A Resolution Between Shadows and Light
by Sakura Tsukikage
Summary: AU. A different ending to the Revenge of the Sith. ObiWan finds it in his heart to forgive and attempt to save. A Dark Lord struggles with the man he used to be. Is redemption possible after everything that has happened?
1. Chapter 1

One

Falling.

I saw him fall, the man I knew as apprentice, as friend, as brother, and as enemy. Not once, but twice—first to the seductive power of the dark side through his uncontrolled passions, Sidious's manipulations, my own failures, then toward a pit of lava on Mustafar that I condemned him to with a sweep of my lightsaber.

Falling. Darkness silhouetted against flame. It seems to light him with fire, licking across his skin, though it is only an illusion. He seems to fall forever.

Both times he struggled to reach out to me, the first time fumbling through fear and pride and ignored in my blindness.

Falling—he stretches out his hand as if to plead for my aid, but all I see is fire. Darkness and flame. His mouth moves, but I can't hear his words.

But as he fell on Mustafar I felt him fling all his remaining strength recklessly—always so reckless—into the Force, reaching out to me in a wordless cry for help with his mind even as his mouth cursed me, and, incredibly, felt his presence, his terror and desperation, his _need_, touch me through the fading remnants of our old bond. A bond I had thought was shattered and broken beyond repair.

I should have known he would find a way to do the impossible even as he sank into fire.

It hit me like his mechanical hand in a punch to the stomach, and I reacted before I even had time to think, dropping to my knees and flinging out a hand as I reached out to the Force to catch his falling body, even as searing, white-hot pain spiked through me from the connection he stubbornly clung to. I had thought I no longer cared about the man he had been, thought I was ready to walk away and leave him sinking into the hellhole around us.

I was wrong. Wrong about so many things. Wrong about him, for I couldn't let him go. With that one wordless plea for help, everything changed, and he was Anakin again, my friend, my partner, my brother, and I couldn't let him fall.

I caught him just in time, just as his body slid off the edge and began to sink into the lava itself, and the pain I felt from him nearly broke my fragile concentration entirely. Flames kindled to life in his tunic, along the wires in his mechanical arm, and he screamed in agony. As painstakingly as the first time I had ever reached out to the energy around me to levitate a stone, I let that power, that light, flow through me and wrap itself around him, lifting him away from the lava, cushioning his body above the deadly heat, dousing the devouring flames with its pressure. I still don't know where I found the strength after a duel like the one we'd just fought, or the focus, with my mind torn between recollections of the good times we had shared and new, raw memories of his darkness. I just couldn't let him fall. Not this time. Not when I could save him.

I felt him losing consciousness even as I struggled to pull him toward me. The Force alone—what anyone other than a Jedi would have described as pure luck—had kept him from being too badly hurt, for by some miracle his mechanical hand had slipped down into the lava first and he had desperately reached out to that same power to keep his head up out of the grasping magma, but the pain had proven too much even for him. I could feel him fading into the vague, floating fuzziness that heralded unconsciousness the same way we had once been able to tell what the other was thinking without having to say a word. The connection was weak, shaky, but . . . there.

How was it possible we could still have a bond at all after everything that had happened, that had passed between us—all he had done? All _I_ had done? I had felt nothing from him as we fought, only rage and darkness.

He nearly slipped from my Force hold in my moment of abstraction, sending a cascade of ashes and gravel sliding into the lava below him, and I cursed myself as I tightened it again, catching him barely an inch from the roiling surface of the fiery stream. His helpless body flopped limply, insensible, in the grip of the Force. Seeing him like this—Anakin Skywalker, the "Hero With No Fear;" Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith—was nearly as frightening as looking into what should have been Anakin's eyes and seeing Vader. The lava popped and exploded beneath us, as if reaching out to him, trying to suck him back down into its depths, to claim him as its own and make Sidious's victory over the good man who had been Anakin Skywalker complete.

I wasn't going to let that happen. Not this time.

It seemed to take a millennia before he was close enough for me to reach out to him with more than just the Force, though it could only have been a few minutes at most. I slipped in the crumbling shale I knelt in as I settled him into my arms with the aid of the Force and sucked in my breath in my alarm as I began to slide. I caught myself just in time.

Stars, he was a mess, on fire with heat, burning in my arms—and it was I who had done this to him. I couldn't keep the pain from twisting like a lightsaber in my heart, no matter that Anakin had become my enemy.

I tried to be gentle as I eased him into my hold and stumbled to my feet, I truly did, but he was so badly burned, in so many places, that I had no choice but to hurt him with my touch. I staggered beneath his weight as I relaxed my grasp on the Force, and he moaned as my grip tightened on his raw skin, struggling fitfully against my restraining arms. I knew the pain was telling him I was his enemy even now as I tried to help him, but I didn't know what I could do. Reaching out to the Force and letting its soothing power flow into him, was a desperate, instinctive gesture, one I had no real hope would actually have an effect. I couldn't envision the light of the Force even reaching him through the darkness enshrouding his soul.

But somehow, miraculously, it worked. He sighed softly, the lines of pain and confusion on his face smoothed out, his tense body relaxed as he accepted my hold, accepted the pain, and he didn't fight as I settled his face against my shoulder, one hand resting on the scorched back of his head. The ends of his hair had been singed away, so the tousled cap of short dark curls, soft beneath my fingers, reminded me of when he first became a Knight and allowed his hair to grow out. _Oh, Anakin—oh, Anakin, how could you do this? Why did you turn away from me, from the Jedi? How is it that I failed you so completely?_

I was afraid to touch his shoulders or upper back, for the skin there nearly bubbled with heat, radiating it beneath my hands, but I knew I had to get him out of there, and quickly. _How the Force am I going to carry him?_ Even docile and relaxed, Anakin was no longer a child or even a lanky teenager. Instead, he was taller than I, athletic, muscular, and certainly not lightweight.

I curled one hand around the nape of his neck, preparing to shift his overheated body so I could carry him cradled like a child in my arms with the aid of the Force. I was completely unprepared for his quiet whimper, his turning of his head into the hollow of my shoulder, his good hand, his real hand, clenching in the rough cloth of my tunic. His mechanical one dangled useless and sparking at his side, melted into a twisted hunk of misshaped slag by the searing heat.

I was even more unprepared for his soft moan of "Master," as he turned his face into my shoulder, or for the sound of his voice, hoarse, raw, deepened by the searing of his throat and lungs by the lava-heated air. It cracked and broke as he struggled to speak. "Help me, Master—please—"

And then he was completely unconscious in my arms, leaving me to steady him with the Force and to marvel at the possibility, the fragile, impossible hope that this was Anakin Skywalker, my friend and brother, in my arms, not Vader, my enemy.

**Author's Note: **Star Wars alternate universe in which the end of the Revenge of the Sith is slightly different—tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

It felt as if I would never get Padmé's ship off Mustafar, let alone into hyperspace. I couldn't seem to get my mind to function, couldn't induce my fingers to input the correct codes into the navicomputer. I wasn't even certain what the correct codes were. Where should I go? Where in the galaxy could I take them—a badly injured Sith Lord and an unconscious Senator bearing his children? I chose the nearest Republic system with a low military presence nearly at random and prayed for the Force to somehow guide me through this.

"See-Threepio," I murmured wearily, "put through a communication to Senator Organa and Master Yoda, will you?" He responded, of course, and at length as usual, but I didn't hear him beyond the affirmative answer, my thoughts and gaze already focused on the HoloNet viewscreen as I rehearsed what I could possibly say.

"Master Kenobi?" Organa appeared on screen. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me." I cast about for some way to describe my situation. Nothing in my vocabulary seemed adequate. "I—I have Senator Amidala and . . . Darth Vader with me. I'm leaving the Mustafar system now and am on my way to a planet called Elanna. It's on the fringes of Republic space, but it has no military presence and a grade-A medical facility according to the computer. It's small, out of the way—remote enough that they might not yet have gotten any news from Coruscant."

"We'll meet you there," Organa assured me. He hesitated. "You say you have both Skywalker—Vader—_and _Senator Amidala?"

"I do. I'll explain on Elanna. Please relay this message to Master Yoda."

"I will. Elanna, then, Master Kenobi." The message ended with a crackle of static, and I leaned back wearily in the seat, feeling a crushing burden of responsibility settle onto my shoulders, into my stomach. Suddenly I felt a thousand years old and more tired than I had ever been. I let my eyes slide closed, just for a moment.

"Are you quite all right, Master Kenobi?" See-Threepio's prissy tones cut into my fogged mind like a vibroblade through transparisteel. "You seem to be rather . . . tired."

I opened my eyes and pushed myself out of the co-pilot's seat. "You fly the ship, See-Threepio," I ordered, then turned and headed for the corridor that lead to the starship's limited medical facilities where I had left Anakin and Padmé.

"Well, I was merely asking a question. You don't have to react like that. Sometimes I just don't understand humans," I heard him respond in a plaintive tone as the door slid shut behind me.

Droids. I knew I would never be able to comprehend Anakin's affection for them.

I keyed open the door and crossed the small room to Padmé's side to lay my hand on her shoulder. I just stood there for a moment, staring down at her unconscious form, and felt a wave of sickening, dizzying guilt wash over me. What would have happened if I hadn't come along with her? Would she have been all right? Anakin loved her, of that I no longer had any doubt, even as the monster he had become.

I had failed him. Failed her. As a Master, as a Jedi, as—

Her eyes fluttered open and focused slowly on me. "Obi-Wan," she whispered. "Obi-Wan, is—is Anakin all right?"

I didn't know how to answer. I touched her cheek with the back of my hand and struggled to find the words, for she deserved an explanation. "I—" I started, and couldn't finish the sentence. "I . . . brought him with us, Padmé, but—I don't know. I just—don't know."

"He's . . . here?" she asked, and her face changed infinitesimally but completely, as if some tiny spark of light had come back into her eyes. "Ani's here?" She turned her head and glanced around the room. Looking for him. "Where, Obi-Wan? Where—where is he?"

I laid both of my hands on her shoulders to soothe her. "Quiet, Padmé. He is . . . sleeping. In the other room. But . . . he is . . . not well. Physically or mentally. I—" I just couldn't finish, couldn't find the words, and I so let the sentence trail off and stood there, my head bowed.

She laid one hand over mine on her shoulder. "Obi-Wan," she said softly. "I know there is good in him. I know there is . . . still." Her eyes closed. "The man I love . . . he's not . . . gone."

I could feel it when she eased into true sleep and disengaged my hand from hers as unobtrusively as I could, not wanting to disturb her again. Still, I couldn't keep myself from laying one hand against her swollen belly, reaching out to the Force to touch the presence of the new lives within her. _Padmé's children . . . Anakin's children . . . ._ There was hope and light in the tiny lives growing beneath my hands, and that was something I sorely needed at the moment.

I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead, praying the light touch wouldn't wake her but needing to make the gesture, if only for my own sake. I closed my eyes for one moment more, then straightened up, turning away. She seemed as if she would be all right until we reached Elanna, and I had to check on . . . on Vader.

Artoo tootled uncertainly at me from where he waited by the side of Vader's bed as I entered the other room. For a moment I thought I could hear concern and sadness to mirror my own in the tentative whistle, but then I shook my head at myself. I was imagining things, a sign of the stress I was under, most likely. Droids don't have feelings. "Thanks for watching him, Artoo," I said, and the little droid warbled an acknowledgment. "Go keep an eye on Padmé now."

The droid blatted at me as if unhappy with the order, but he then whistled the affirmative I had come to recognize and rolled out of the room to find her. I took a deep breath and turned to the man before me on the starship's small bunk.

He lay on his stomach, pretty much as I had left him. I hadn't dared to peel the melted leather and charred cloth away from his back after carrying him onto the starship—I didn't know anything about treating burns like this, after all—but I could see his blistered skin, tortured by unnatural heat even now, in places where the clothing had burned away completely. The rasping sound of his breathing, hoarse, labored, worried me, for it sounded as if he was struggling merely to inhale and exhale. His mechanical hand dangled off the side of the bed, still sparking dangerously, something else I hadn't dared do anything about, but his real hand rested beside him on the flat pillow, his fingers curled into a fist against the cloth. He seemed to be asleep, as I had told Padmé, but it wasn't the healing, restful slumber those words implied. Even in unconsciousness his face was twisted in a mask of pain, his brow lined and creased with agony.

I sat down on the small swivel seat beside the bunk and laid my fingers against his forehead. His skin still felt hot beneath my hand, as if carrying him away from the brink of the lava hadn't been enough and he still burned with fire. He moaned slightly as I touched him, his mouth tightening with lines of pain, and tossed his head against the pillow.

I winced. I couldn't just leave him there like that. The burns on his back would dehydrate him and eventually fester in deadly infection if I didn't do _something_. I closed my eyes and reached out to the Force, wrapping it around him as I had back on Mustafar. Again, he sighed and relaxed.

I took a deep breath and steadied his shoulder with one hand. With the other I reached down and began the process of easing the ruined tunic away from his back as best I could. He flinched, murmuring something in Huttese into the pillow. I was used to him reverting to the language he had spoken on Tatooine whenever he was hurt or sick and disregarded his fevered mutterings—I had always had the feeling he used Huttese to curse so I wouldn't realize what he was saying and scold him for his language. The memory of him as my Padawan made my eyes blur, and I had to stop in my task for a moment.

The burned, blistered skin my efforts revealed twisted my stomach up in knots—the knowledge that it was I who had done this to him made me feel physically ill. I finally pulled the charred remnants of his tunic down to his waist, then got up to clean my hands and returned to his side, reaching for the medpac I kept on my utility belt. Disinfectant burn cream was standard issue, and it should keep him stable until we landed on Elanna. I began to spread the cream over the worst of the injuries on his back. The muscles in his arm clenched as I touched him, the servos in his mechanical hand whirred, as if he was trying to lift it, but the melted slag that was all that was left didn't stir. "Easy, Anakin," I murmured. "Easy."

A tremor passed through his entire body, and his eyes snapped open. He shook as he gasped for breath, deep, painful breaths that shuddered through him like spasms. His face tightened with pain; his good hand closed into a tight fist in the cloth of the sheet beneath him. "Padmé," he said in a tone hoarse with pain and desperation. His voice faded and broke, and it was almost physically painful to watch his cracked lips form the words. "Where . . . where's Padmé? Is she . . . all right . . .?"

Each of them asked about the other first, even now. Something in me ached. "She's fine, Anakin," I told him quietly.

At the sound of my voice his eyes flew up. Yellow fury blazed in his face. "You," he snarled. His rage seemed to emanate from him, making the air shimmer around him, like a mirage born of the heat of his anger. A long torrent of mangled Huttese and Basic I had no hope whatsoever of understanding followed, but I could feel his fury as if it were a living thing poisoning the very air between us.

"Anakin, I'm not trying to hurt you," I said desperately.

His face twisted into a horrible mask of his usual features. "_Liar!_" he howled in a deafening roar that seemed as if it could not possibly come from a body as weak and battered as his. The air around him surged into a flickering field of red, and I was physically lifted and slammed into the wall by a hand of pure power. I smashed into the bulkhead behind me so hard I think I must have blacked out for a moment, then fell. I could feel my leg twist under me as I landed.

Gasping with shock and pain, I pulled myself to a sitting position and passed a hand over my eyes in an effort to clear my vision. Anakin was crumpled helplessly on the bunk, his breath sobbing painfully in his lungs, his good hand clenching and unclenching into a fist on the thin pillow beside him. His head shot up again as I struggled to my feet and limped to the bed, and I could see tears streaking his cheeks even as his unnatural yellow eyes burned in his face like the moon we had just left come to life in his eyes. "Get . . . _away_ . . . from me!" he gasped, face working, and it was half command, half plea.

"Anakin," I tried, feeling as if my heart had been torn out of my chest all over again at seeing that hate-filled gaze so alien to face of the man I knew turned on me. My voice broke.

"You betrayed me!" The Force spasmed around him. I could see waves of purest rage coalescing around his helpless, prone body, even though he sounded as if one more word would be enough to break him in two. "You . . . betrayed me, _Master_!"

"I'm . . . sorry, Anakin." It was all I could manage to get out. "I never meant . . . for it to come to this."

"Get . . . away . . . from me!" he repeated, voice tightening and deepening into a roar of fury. The Force around him rippled dangerously.

I obeyed, no longer seeing any point in staying when he wouldn't even let me get near him, and turned my back as I left the room, keying the door closed behind me before I staggered helplessly over to lean against a nearby bulkhead. I covered my face with my hand and realized only belatedly that I was shaking.

If there was still good in him, it was not visible to me, and the pain of it felt as if it had torn my very soul asunder.

What had I done?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Wow, awesome, I got a review already! Thanks so much Hieiko! (cool name, by the way) Yeah, maybe it'd be good if I explained the terms of my alternate universe: Obi-Wan does not walk away from Anakin at the end of the _Revenge of the Sith_. Obi-Wan also doesn't injure him as badly, only cutting off one leg at the knee instead of three limbs (because I didn't think I could write Anakin as a quadriplegic, to be honest). And Padmé doesn't die, because with Obi-Wan's "rescue" of Anakin she still has a reason to live.

I'm glad you like it! Below I try my hand at Sidious's point of view. I'm not sure how well I did—pure evil is difficult to write or understand, and I don't see much else in Sidious's character.

_Three_

_Mustafar—searing, roiling flame against the still darkness of space._

_Darth Sidious closed his eyes, drinking in the untamed power of the molten world below him. He could almost taste his success, his ultimate victory. The feeling of it was intoxicating. The Jedi were gone. He had defeated Yoda himself in combat, even if the little Jedi Master had escaped death in the end. He had declared himself dictator for life of the fledgling Empire and had been greeted in the Senate with thunderous applause._

_All that remained was to reclaim his new apprentice and consolidate his hold on the galaxy with Lord Vader at his side._

_The ship settled down on the landing platform of the planet, and one of his clone troopers came up to Sidious to inform him of the landing. "Yes, I know," he replied, brushing off the soldier's words, and moved to leave the ship for the planet._

_Something wasn't right. The feeling of danger that had brought him here had spiked, red and black in the Force, some time ago. Now it had faded. Now there was—something else, some feeling he couldn't quite identify. A . . . strange premonition. Vader's presence seemed strangely faded, far away and difficult to pinpoint through the Force. Sidious closed his eyes and reached out to the darkness around him to get a clearer idea of where his wayward apprentice had gone._

_His eyes snapped open and focused on a slope of crumbling shale some distance away and farther down, near one of the rivers of lava that crisscrossed the world. He got a sense of Vader's presence from the spot, but it was still odd, more like an implanted echo of fierce emotion than the new Dark Lord's actual signature in the Force. "Come," Sidious snapped to the clones. Perhaps there was greater need for haste than he had thought._

_His suspicions proved to be correct when he reached the place where the Force led him, the clone troopers following obediently behind. His sense of Vader was strong, but there was no trace of the boy himself._

_Sidious closed his eyes again and stretched out his hand over the crumbling bank of rock, reaching out to the Force to strengthen his perceptions of the events that had taken place here what couldn't have been too long ago. He felt great emotion here. Anger, hatred, pain, terror, desperation, sorrow, guilt—whatever had happened would be simple to trace through the Force._

_A wavering image formed before his eyes—that tenacious pest of a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, stood with his feet firmly planted on the slope of crumbling shale, facing down Vader, who stood on a repulsorlift platform floating above the flow of lava, seething with rage. Sidious's lips curved in a smile of cruel approval as he felt the boy's fury through the Force. With training to focus and shape that anger, Vader would become a powerful Sith indeed—the perfect apprentice he had long searched for._

_As Sidious watched the memory of the emotions that still lingered in the Force, Vader flung himself forward at Kenobi, raising his lightsaber in a reckless swing meant to separate Kenobi's head from his shoulders. The Jedi Master spun away in a quick dodge and brought his own saber down in a slash to his opponent's legs._

_Sidious could feel Vader's pain echoing through the Force even now. With one leg severed at the knee, he lost his balance and tumbled down the rocky slope on his side in an uncontrolled freefall. He caught himself precariously halfway down by digging his real hand into the gravel above him and hung there for a moment, staring up at Kenobi. The agony of betrayal resonated from both men as they stared at each other. Surges of pain, rage, hate, indescribable loss twisted the Force._

_And then Vader opened his hand and let go, letting his head drop as he rolled down the slope to the lava river. In the last moment before he toppled into the roiling magma, a desperate plea for help reverberated down the bond he had shared with the other Jedi. Kenobi dropped to his knees and flung out a hand to catch him with the Force just inches from the molten river._

_Sidious's mouth twisted in disgust as Kenobi levitated Skywalker's limp body into his arms, cradling the unresponsive form against him as gently as if the boy was actually his brother instead of just a former apprentice he had nearly killed a moment ago._

_Anakin groaned and turned his face into Kenobi's shoulder, his good hand clutching at the cloth of the Jedi's tunic._

_Sidious dismissed the Force vision as he opened his eyes, a wave of fury crashing through him. What was this? He had fully expected the Jedi to kill Vader if his new apprentice slipped and foolishly allowed one of them the opportunity._

_Did Kenobi think he could "save" the boy or some such nonsense? Pathetic fool. Skywalker was _his_ now—now that Vader had tasted the power of the dark side he would never go back. The new Dark Lord would never be turned from the sinister path he had chosen._

_Such was the power of the dark side._

_Sidious would have to find the boy, get him away from that Jedi fool—how had Kenobi survived the purge, anyway? _Kenobi,_ of all people? Sidious had thought he'd made certain that annoying Jedi had been finished off for good._

_No matter, soon the last of the Jedi would be dead in truth and Skywalker would be in his power once more. "Return to the ship," Sidious ordered the clones who had accompanied him. "Ready it for takeoff."_

_He closed his eyes again. It was clear that Vader was there no longer, but there was more than one way to find someone through the Force, especially a Sith apprentice. Sidious felt a black smile curve his lips as he opened his senses wide to the dark power that always waited around him, searching for Vader's presence._

_It wouldn't be long now._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

To Hieiko: Glad you think my name is cool! You even know what it means! Yay! More angsty Obi/Ani/Padme stuff coming up, as requested. And I don't like that manipulative Sith either.

To Eruvyweth: Wow . . . thanks . . . now I'm under pressure . . . I've read your stuff here on and I was impressed, so I'm really happy you think my story's worth reading.

To Fragile Dreams: I wish movie Obi-Wan felt that way, too, which is probably why I decided to write fic about it, isn't it? Actually, I think he almost did, but he felt his duty to Yoda and the other Jedi too keenly--what made all the difference, in this story at least, is that Anakin _asked _him for help . . . . I'm glad you think Anakin and Padme's relationship is portrayed well. I'm having trouble with it, since they can't be together while they both convalesce, but there's always the Force, I suppose.

To Wswords: Continuing, as ordered, sir. I'm happy (and surprised) you liked the third chapter so much! Sidious is hard . . . .

To Lady Cora: I'm relieved you thought Obi-Wan was in character. A lot of this story kind of depends on that, and to some degree it's turning out to be an exploration of some aspects of our favorite Jedi Master's character.

Four

"Stay with the ship," I ordered distractedly. Battling with the ache solidifying into a solid, throbbing mass of pain centered in my forehead was making it hard to focus.

"But, Master Obi-Wan, surely—" the golden droid started, but I was teetering on the edge of true physical and emotional collapse and simply couldn't deal with the endless, pointless blathering today.

"Stay. With. The. Ship." I bit the words out one by one and turned away from Threepio without bothering to see how he'd react. I heard the slight whirring and clanking as he made his way back up the ramp and gave a sigh of relief to realize that he'd decided to obey me after all as I started toward the tiny medical facility in an exhausted sort of haze. Anakin and Padmé had already been rushed there, as soon as we'd landed and I'd convinced the overzealous port authority that I really was Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, hero of . . . well, whatever battles I was considered a hero of now. Obviously they hadn't gotten the news from Coruscant yet that Jedi were traitors and to be disposed of immediately. I wondered what I would do if—when—they did as that slow, dull pain from my heart spread all through me again at the thought, and then dismissed those thoughts as useless. _Keep your attention here and now where it belongs _. . . .

It was fortunate the medical center wasn't far from the starport. I doubt I would have made it there otherwise, and the last thing we needed was to have me lying passed out in the street.

Force, I was tired.

The medical center was blur of activity to my unfocused eyes as I made my way through it. The day had been the most utterly exhausting of my life, and I felt as though I could barely put one foot in front of the other. But I was still General Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, and I still had things to do before I let myself rest.

I nearly ran into a small, blue-jumpsuited Healer in the hall because I hadn't seen her behind the medical droid I was following and my reflexes and senses were dulled enough by weariness to slow my reaction times down by quite a bit. "I'm sorry," I managed as I caught myself.

"That's all right." She looked and sounded as deadened and exhausted as I felt. She looked at me with eyes that were blank with tiredness. "General Kenobi," she said in a tone of dull recognition, then heaved a deep sigh. "Well, Senator Amidala's doing all right now. We decided to put her in obstetrics because she's stabilized enough not to warrant intensive care."

I closed my eyes, nearly staggering as a wave of unadulterated relief washed over me, leaving me weak and shaking in its wake. _Thank the Force._ I would never have forgiven myself if Padmé had died because of my folly. I didn't even want to think about what her death would have done to Anakin.

A small hand on my arm, shaking me slightly, brought me back to myself. The medic's tired eyes were looking at me with quite a bit more life than they had shown earlier, and I noticed vaguely that they were blue. A clear, limpid blue-gray like the light of an early morning over the waterfalls on Naboo.

Force, now I was waxing poetic about someone's _eyes_. What was wrong with me?

"General Kenobi," she said, her voice much firmer now, "You need medical care."

I shook her off. "It's nothing; I'm just tired. Can I see her?"

The medic's small mouth set into an unhappy, disapproving line. "I suppose. Besides, you are a Jedi. I'm sure you'll go ahead and do whatever you want no matter what I say."

The bizarre comment caught my attention, mainly because the words and the amount of bitterness in the voice behind them surprised the Force out of me. "Uh—what?" I said intelligently. _Good job, Kenobi—show her that Jedi are foggy-headed Kowakian monkey-lizards without two thoughts to string together, like you are right now._

"It's nothing," she said quickly. "Forget it. Get some rest, all right? Exhausting yourself into collapse isn't going to do anyone any good, least of all Senator Amidala and General Skywalker."

_General Skywalker._ Not Darth Vader—so they hadn't heard. Word of his fall to the dark side hadn't yet reached here. It was safe to be a Jedi, for the moment at least. "I know," I muttered, feeling as if a heavy, crushing weight of responsibility had settled onto my shoulders and refused to lift. "I know."

She rolled her eyes and turned away. I watched her go, still bemused by her attitude, then keyed open the door and slipped into Padmé's room as unobtrusively as I could. I didn't know when she became Padmé to me instead of Senator Amidala, but now that she had I couldn't seem to go back to think of her in the more distant manner I had been accustomed to.

She appeared to be sleeping, one hand on the curve of her stomach, watched over by a new model FX droid, but as I entered her eyes fluttered open and focused on me. Sometimes I've wondered if she has some kind of latent Force sensitivity. I moved to sit by her bed and reached out to take her fragile hand in both of my own as she turned toward me. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but I shook my head to prevent her from doing so. "How are you feeling?" I asked as steadily as I could.

"All right," she said. "Don't . . . worry, Obi-Wan." She took a deep breath. "H-how's . . . A-Ani?"

"I haven't seen him yet," I told her. "He was . . . hurt . . . fairly badly—" I took a deep breath, ashamed of how my voice wavered dangerously, thick with emotion. Force, I was pathetic. I sounded like I was about to cry.

She shook her head. "No. Don't . . . blame yourself. You . . . did . . . what you had to do." She smiled tiredly at me. "Not your fault . . . ."

I managed a weak smile in return, though I knew she was saying it only to make me feel better.

Padmé sighed and turned her head away. In the sound was sorrow, pain, weariness, and a measure of resignation that made my heart ache. I closed my eyes and sat there with her, her hand small and fragile in mine, just for a moment, reaching out to the Force in an effort to find some small measure of peace. But the Force eluded me, peace eluded me. All that was left was uncertainty, pain, and guilt.

I could feel it when she slipped into unconsciousness again and got up as quietly as I could. I closed my eyes for one more moment, then straightened up, turning away.

The world blurred in front of me as I forced my eyelids upward again, and I quickly steadied myself with a hand on the wall beside me as the floor seemed to shift beneath my feet. I took a deep breath and focused on merely clearing my vision for one long moment.

Force, I was tired. A dull, throbbing ache seemed to have settled in my forehead directly behind my eyes. I rubbed at my temples, wincing at the pain shooting through my skull. All I really wanted was to find some dark, quiet place where I could lie down and rest for a while, let my aching, exhausted body recover, and forget the events of the past few days, pretend that none of this had happened at all. But I couldn't do that. Not yet.

I had to check on . . . on Vader first.

"General Kenobi?" The semi-familiar voice in front of me brought my head up with a snap that sent a lightsaber of pain stabbing into my mind. Light blue and reddish-brown reeled in front of me until my vision came back into focus and I realized the female medic from earlier was standing there, her hands resting firmly on her slender hips. The colors I had seen were her practical Healer's jumpsuit and short hair. "You are _not _all right," she stated with conviction as I focused my eyes wearily on her. "You should definitely be in bed. Do you want me to have to sedate you? I will, you know."

"I'm fine," I reiterated wearily. "Just tired." And I didn't have time to waste with a pushy, stubborn medic. I took a step past her.

She grabbed my arm just above the elbow and spun me back around to face her. She was tiny, I noticed, barely coming up to my chin, but the fire in her gray eyes and the steel straightening her spine, the conviction in the thrust of her narrow chin, only seemed all the greater for it. "And what, are you going to Jedi yourself past it?" she demanded.

There it was again, the bitter, acerbic scorn when she said the word Jedi. For some reason, it bothered me, intrigued me at the same time I found it confusing, annoying. I found myself wanting to prove to her that the organization I'd devoted my life to wasn't as bad as she seemed to think. I squashed the impulse immediately—I couldn't afford to let myself get distracted, certainly not now.

"Your toughness isn't going to impress me, General," she continued. "You need rest, and you need it before you pass out at my Sithin' feet!"

I winced at the expletive, and she looked at me strangely. "I'll get some rest soon enough," I told her. "I just have to do something first. Does that satisfy you?"

She looked at me with those disconcertingly keen gray-blue eyes, and then sighed. "General Skywalker," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"Yes," I said, losing patience as I tried again to maneuver past her and she again blocked me, this time stopping me by planting one hand on my chest.

"_Promise_ me you'll get some rest soon and I'll take you to him," she said.

"I promise, all right?" I said my tone short and clipped with annoyance. "Now may I see him?"

She released me and shrugged. "I suppose that's the best I'm going to get." She hesitated, cocking her head to one side, then grinned. It lit up her face and she suddenly seemed much younger, around Anakin's age. The thought was another twinge of pain. "You're really something, you know that?" she said.

I believe I said something incredibly intelligent and profound along the lines of, "Huh?"

She just shook her head at me, laughing slightly to herself. "So Jedi," she said. "Perfect Core accent—it's Coruscanti, isn't it?—overly serious demeanor, plain tunic, incredibly selfless attitude . . . you know, I didn't think you could possibly really be like this, but you are."

I blinked, not certain whether I should be insulted or not, and she seemed to find that even more amusing. "I'll show you to his quarters," she said. "Just be careful, he's—"

_Anakin!_

The Force-sense hit me like a blaster bolt to the chest, not that I've taken many of those. I was sprinting in the direction I instinctively knew would lead me to him before I even knew what I was doing, drawn by the anguish and terror swirling like a beacon in the Force and shot through with Anakin's presence. The medic reacted almost as quickly as I had, turning to race after me.

A hoarse, desperate wail split the air around us. Anakin's voice.

I was through the door to the trauma center almost before it slid open for me and reached Anakin seconds later, before the medic had even sprinted through the door after me. The sight that met my eyes stopped my heart cold in my chest.

Anakin no longer lay still, facedown on the hover-stretcher they had loaded him onto in passive, compliant unconsciousness from the ship. Instead, his body jerked and convulsed as if run through with some kind of electric shock. A breath mask dangled beside the stretcher by a few cords where he had wrenched it off his face. Wind whistled around him, picking up speed until it was a roaring maelstrom around us. I had to duck as a tray covered in medical instruments came hurtling through the air at my head. It bounced off the wall behind me and clattered to the floor.

"Anakin!" I shouted through the roaring of the Force wind around me as I ducked another flying metal instrument. "Anakin, no! Stop this!"

He threw his head back and screamed. The sound was full of an anguished, tormented helplessness that I had never heard in anyone's voice before. It seemed to go on and on as his hoarse, broken voice faded in and out. The strength of the wind around us increased.

I couldn't let this continue any longer. I dodged yet another random flying object and took a running dive for the hover-stretcher.

A hand of pure energy caught me in the chest, lifted me off my feet, and slammed me against the wall. _Not again._ I had just enough time for the thought before I bounced just as the tray had, pain shooting through my body at the impact, and collapsed to the floor as he let go of me. Anakin stopped screaming. Instead, he gasped raggedly for breath, moaning softly as if he simply couldn't get enough air to continue, and huddled over on the bed, clutching his hand to his head as he rocked slightly back and forth. The wind whistling around us didn't abate.

"Anakin!" I tried again, and broke off in a gasp as pain shot through me from my ribs. I passed a hand over them and felt nothing broken, so I ignored the pain and concentrated on Anakin. "_Anakin!_" I shouted. "Stop this, Anakin, please!" I reached out with the Force to try and touch his presence—

His eyes snapped up and focused on me, and his features contorted in a furious snarl. "_Get away . . . from me,_" he spat. His eyes were burning flames of topaz rage against his death-pale skin. I could see the faint lines the breath mask had left on his cheeks and chin. "Stay out . . . of my head! Stay—_out_!" For a moment I could see the darkness enshrouding him, and a vision of old, hideously wrinkled features seemed to flicker across his agonized face. I could hear the Dark Lord of the Sith's cackling laugh echo through the room around us. Anakin screamed again, rearing his head back, as if fighting some invisible force that had him in its grasp. I could almost see the Emperor standing behind him, shrouded in a black, cowled robe. A black mask seemed to settle over Anakin's features, and for a moment I thought I saw a dark helmeted figure standing there in his place.

"Anakin!" I cried out desperately. "No—"

Incredible force shoved me backward as a tight, crushing grip settled over my windpipe, cutting off my air supply. I gasped for breath and found none, raising a hand to claw desperately at my throat even though I knew it wouldn't do any good. Through the dark spots beginning to dance in front of my eyes I could see Anakin's outstretched hand closing into a fist. "Stay—away—from me," he ground out. "Stay away—Master—"

My vision began to black out, blurring into darkness, but through it I could see one silvery droplet slip slowly down Anakin's cheek. That single tear gave me the hope I needed to keep struggling against the darkness. In that one moment, I could feel Anakin, feel _him _through the Force, past the whirlwind of rage and pain and hatred. "Anakin—" I gasped out. "Anakin—_please_—" _Don't do this, not now; don't do this to yourself—_

Abruptly, I was released. The choking pressure lifted from my throat, and I could breathe again. I fell to my knees with the relief of it, doing nothing more than gasping for air for one long moment. It hurt to breathe, but oxygen had never tasted so sweet.

Anakin collapsed helplessly on the bed, his whole body shuddering with slow, painful sobs. I felt as if I could actually see the darkness closing in around him. He moaned weakly, his hand closing into a fist against the edge of the stretcher.

I reached out to the Force in desperation and let light flow through me, closing around Anakin, trapping him alone in his darkness. I had no idea what I was doing, simply that I had to protect him, somehow, from what was happening. Even from himself.

That dark presence turned toward me and closed dark, grasping fingers around my mind. Pain tore through my entire being as I tried to pull away and was yanked back into that crushing grip. _Give up, Master Kenobi_, whispered the Chancellor's—the Emperor's, Sidious's—voice. _He is _mine_. Give up—I will find him—I will find you—he is _my_ apprentice. He cannot hide from me for long._

I struggled against that dark hold, but it was too much. I could feel myself fading, falling, my light smothered by his darkness even as I fought to hold it around Anakin. I felt myself fall to my knees and knew it wouldn't be much longer. I simply wasn't strong enough.

I was . . . so tired.

A strangely new but somehow familiar presence suddenly joined mine, like the wash of cool rain on a hot and muggy Coruscant day, and I felt new strength flow into me, new energy. The light brightened until it filled the room. Even through it I could see Anakin sag against the surface of the stretcher, quiet again now.

The light dimmed, and I slumped where I knelt on the floor. The girl medic was kneeling in front of me, I realized in a daze. She reached out and steadied me with a hand on each shoulder as I wavered and almost fell. "Easy there, General Kenobi," she said.

I stared blankly at her, simply unable to process her words for a moment.

"General Kenobi," she said again, and laid her hand against my face, shaking me a little. "You all right?"

Finally, it filtered into my mind that she was asking how I was. "I'm fine," I said dazedly, my voice rasping painfully in my throat, then, eventually, "Thank you."

She grinned a little at that, then climbed to her feet and offered me her hand. I pulled myself up with her aid and looked past her to Anakin. His breath rattled hoarsely in his throat as he lay there, but at least he was still now, quiet. The girl medic followed my gaze and made her way to his side, lifting the breath mask and fastening it back over his mouth and nose. He fought weakly as she touched him, but she caught him in her arms, holding him, stroking his hair, his face, the back of his neck, until he quieted and let her settle the mask back over his face without struggling.

My throat hurt. I braced myself on the wall and raised a hand to massage the bruised skin.

The movement must have caught her attention, for she raised her head and glanced over at me. "Are you _sure_ you're all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," I croaked. "It's just a little . . . sore."

She rolled her eyes again. "Sure. You're not having any trouble breathing, though? Nothing feels permanently damaged?"

"No, nothing." I took a deep breath. "I'm perfectly fine."

She shrugged and turned back to Anakin's prone figure. "Whatever you say, Jedi. Maybe getting thrown around like that is all in a day's work for you." She laid her hand against Anakin's forehead and sighed. "His condition is serious. I'd better get him attended to." Her eyes flicked over to me in one last flash of blue, and the expression in them was the same one Master Qui-Gon used to favor me with when I'd done something that displeased him and the lecture had to be delayed for some reason. "I'll be back for you later, General Kenobi." With that, she turned away, motioning to a medical droid as she followed the hover-stretcher into the next chamber, and left me standing there with a half-formed retort on my lips and no real idea what had just happened or what I should do next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry, Eruvyweth, still no rational Ani/Obi contact, though we're getting closer. And the necessary OCs seem to have taken on lives of their own. Anakin will try to be rational enough to make an attempt at conversation in the next chapter.

Five

_Lightsabers flash in the dark. Blue, green, red, blue, green, red—watch yourself, Anakin, Dooku is a skilled opponent—look out, your side's open—block_ now_—_

_A different scene, the Jedi Temple, blue lightsaber glows against blue as we spar—Anakin's right side is still weak, slower than the other—he isn't used yet to using the mechanical hand, and it worries me, especially as we are at war now and will all need to be at the peak of our abilities—_

"General Kenobi?"

"General _Kenobi?" Anakin's voice is a mixture of mischievous, teasing amusement and impressed respect. "So you're a general, huh?"_

_I shrug . . . "Senator Organa seemed to think it was necessary."_

_Anakin grins at the long-suffering note in my voice. "Don't look at me, Master. I just said you were a fair pilot . . . ."_

"_Fair?" I raise my eyebrows._

"_You don't like flying, remember?" he teases in response._

"General Kenobi?" Something—someone—was shaking me.

_Explosions detonate in space all around me, shaking my small fighter as I struggle to stay on Anakin's wing. He really is the best starfighter pilot in the galaxy, and I am hard pressed to keep up with him, even as I share his very thoughts._

"General Kenobi, can you wake up a little?" The gentle hand was so warm on my shoulder.

I wanted to sleep.

"Obi-Wan, wake up you must."

That scratchy voice got through to me, and reflexive obedience, long-ingrained, forced my head up even as I blinked the combination of sleep and memories out of my eyes. The small form of Master Yoda and the soothing gray and blue shades of the corridor outside Anakin's room swam into focus in front of me. "Master?" I croaked groggily.

"Sorry to wake you, I am," he said in one of his more gentle tones, one that meant he really was sorry to wake me. The female medic from earlier was glowering at me and Yoda both as she gave me a hand to help me pull myself into a sitting position on the low bench I had collapsed onto to wait, but she didn't say anything.

I shook my head, awareness already filtering back through my sleep-mazed mind as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "No," I said. "No, Master Yoda, it's fine." I could feel a slight flush of shame color my cheeks beneath my beard. "I did not intend—"

"Falling asleep on the job, eh, Kenobi?"

My gaze rose at the sound of the unfamiliar voice to focus on a man standing over me, dressed in a gray military uniform I recognized as Alderaanian, one of the variety those in the service of Senator Organa customarily wore. He was about a decade younger than I, tall and muscular, with military-straight posture, precisely groomed brown hair, piercing blue eyes, sculpted, clean-shaven features, and a rather self-satisfied grin curving his lips. It was wrong of me and I knew it, but I disliked him on sight.

The female medic—it occurred to me that I still didn't know her name—laid a protective hand on my shoulder. "Ease up, Commander," she said. "General Kenobi's had a busy day."

I shook my head as I got to my feet, letting my breath out in a hiss as my exhausted muscles stiffened and complained. My body ached like that of an old man. "No, it's all right. Sorry—I don't believe we've met?" I felt like saying something more along the lines of, _"What the _Sith_ are _you_ doing here? I thought Senator Organa was coming!"_ but I managed to refrain.

The man's voice was so full of military precision that he might as well have been tossing me a salute. "Commander Aerdin Onasi, formally of the Telos Defense Force, now serving Senator Bail Organa and Alderaan. And you are Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Well, there was no denying that. I bowed slightly. "I am. It is a pleasure to meet you, Commander Onasi." I was lying through my teeth, but even a Jedi Master can't tell the truth all the time. With the pleasantries out of the way, I turned to Yoda. "How did you get here so quickly, Master? I thought it would take you some time to reach us."

"Fast, Commander Onasi's ship is," Yoda said. "And vital speed was. Your message—relayed to me it was. Your . . . old apprentice—with you, he is?"

I hesitated, uncertain how to respond, feeling another uneasy swell of guilt rise up inside me. Yoda had sent me to kill Vader and to rid the galaxy of one of the Sith, not to save him—not to pull him back from the edge of the pit and carry him to safety. Vader had been helpless. I could easily have killed him. Instead I had rescued him, unable to end his life as long as there was the shred of hope that the spirit of Anakin Skywalker survived somewhere in the man who had once been my closest friend. "He . . . is," I answered finally. "In the room behind us. I—"

Yoda shook his head. "Not now, Master Kenobi. Now, take me to him, you will."

The medic broke in at that point, resting her hands on her hips. "Hold on just a minute. Skywalker's doing better than he was earlier—a bit better, anyway—but he's still fragile. I can't let you all just walk in there and disturb him without so much as a by-your-leave."

Onasi turned to the girl. "Healer Risto, we are representatives of the Republic, and this is a very delicate situation. I cannot believe—"

"He's very fragile," she repeated stubbornly, her chin taking on a determined thrust and her mouth settling into the obstinate, disapproving line I had encountered earlier. "And I cannot just write off the welfare of one of my patients, representatives of the Republic or not. He's already proven himself to be—sensitive—to disruptions."

I winced at that, and Onasi's eyes swung toward me before I could cover the involuntary reaction entirely. "General Kenobi?" he said sharply.

I shook my head, cursing him for being perceptive and myself for reacting so obviously. My weariness was obviously affecting me. "It's nothing. Healer Risto is right. I wouldn't want to . . . disturb him."

"Not much time do we have," Yoda replied. "Vital, it is, that the condition of Obi-Wan's apprentice is known. Sorry, I am, young Healer, but see him we must."

"You Jedi," she sighed. "All the same. You never bother to explain to the rest of us lowly mortals what's going on, do you?" I flinched at that, as she turned on her heel and stalked over to key open Anakin's door, irritation obvious in every fiber of her being. I couldn't help but feel more guilt—this time for subjecting this innocent young woman to the presence of a Dark Lord of the Sith without even warning her about the danger she might possibly be in. "All right," she said. "Keep it down, okay? He's drugged out of his mind, but that doesn't mean he won't react all the same, and if he does, he'll just be even more confused."

Onasi started after her first, and I hung back to speak with Yoda as he made his slower way forward. "I . . . failed to accomplish what you asked of me, Master," I started, but he shook his head.

"No need for an apology, there is, Obi-Wan," he said. "Felt something I did not and acted on it, you did. When felt, the prompting of the Force is, why not listen?"

"But—" I stopped in mid-sentence. "Master Yoda, I thought—" I realized I had no idea what I was going to say, so I stopped again. "What about the Sith?" I finally asked.

The little Jedi Master sighed, seeming to age before my very eyes. "In control of the Republic—Empire—Sidious still is. But in control of his apprentice, at this moment, he is not. Instead, we are. Reach Anakin, we might."

I swallowed hard, the thought of Padmé, and of Anakin's children, coming to mind. What would happen to her, to them, in a galaxy overtaken by the Sith? "Master, I have to tell you something—"

"More than one thing, I think," Yoda said. "Later, time for discussion there will be. For now, check on Vader we must."

I sighed, accepting his decision, and followed him into the medical room.

The sight of Anakin lying there, unconscious in the medical bed, made my heart contract in pain and worry. I had seen Anakin in medical facilities before, but this was different. This hurt more.

This time, I was the one who had put him there.

He lay on his stomach, his back and shoulders swathed in the gauzy, translucent bandages I recognized as the sort used on severe burns. No synthflesh, not for this kind of injury, for there wasn't enough real, undamaged skin left for it to bond to, and it was too difficult for a body in this state of extreme shock to accept it. Healer Risto had been right about him being drugged—his entire body had the slack, near-lifeless relaxation that only sedatives seemed to produce. It was the most quiescent I had seen him for . . . a long time. The entire room echoed with the hoarse sucking sound as he struggled to take in air and the slow, heavy exhalation as he blew it out again, unnaturally amplified thanks to the respirator that had been refitted over his mouth and nose to help his damaged lungs with the task of breathing until they healed. The suck-hiss sound sent an instinctive frisson of disquiet crawling up my spine, and I shivered involuntarily, even though the room was not particularly cold.

A medical droid hovered around him, taking readings and adjusting the tubes of medication running into his good arm, but it didn't even look up as I entered behind Yoda. They had removed the ruined mechanical hand, and the stump of the severed arm made him look even more helpless, somehow, vulnerable. I could see the outline of his left leg severed at the knee beneath the light blanket that had been drawn up to his waist and hated myself for having done that to him, even though I knew I'd had no choice. The arm had never slowed him down in the least, but a leg was different and prosthesis still a very uncertain, difficult procedure.

The droid whirred to itself as it adjusted a few knobs on the console the IVs were hooked up to. Anakin—I couldn't think of him as Vader, somehow, seeing him like this—turned his head slightly into the pillow as if, even in unconsciousness, he didn't want to face the cold impersonality of the medical center, his own helpless vulnerability. Anakin had always hated that, always wanted to be doing something, hated to relinquish control of his own body. He would hate to see himself like this, completely at the mercy of anyone and anything.

The door swooshed shut behind me as Healer Risto—I wondered what her first name was—entered. "You all right, General?" she said softly, and I started a little.

"What?" I asked. "Oh, yes. I—I'm fine." I swallowed hard.

She laid one hand on my shoulder in a wordless gesture of reassurance, unsettling me completely with the depth of her understanding, then turned to Yoda and Onasi, who both looked at Anakin's comatose form with varying degrees of grimness and solemnity. "See what I meant?" she said, crossing to Anakin's side and bending over some of the medical readouts. She looked back at Yoda. "Are you satisfied now?"

"What happened to him?" Onasi asked in an abrupt tone. "This is General Skywalker, is it not?"

I nodded unhappily.

"Well, what happened?" he demanded in a tone that left me no doubt that he was used to getting answers to his questions. "Did he also fall prey to one of these clone ambushes?"

"An . . . unexpected battle, he indeed had, Commander," Yoda said. He turned back to me, shrewd eyes narrowed. "Choose to bring him here, Master Kenobi did."

Anakin moaned, almost as if he were aware the discussion was about him. His head rolled to the side as his fingers clenched into a fist, and he drew in a rough rattle of breath. Slowly, his fevered eyes fluttered open, lashes shielding them from the light of the room. The pace of his labored breathing quickened. "Can't . . . breathe," he gasped. The respirator magnified and distorted his words, muffling them so they were difficult to understand. "Why . . . Master, why . . . won't you help me?"

I started toward him out of reflex, but his eyes flickered toward me. "_You_ . . . still here," he whispered hoarsely, angrily.

"Anakin, don't struggle," I said in worry, taking another step toward him. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"Stay . . . away from me!" he snarled. The respirator wheezed as he struggled for breath. "You . . . did this to me! _I hate you!_"

The words felt like a lightsaber stabbing me through the heart, and I stopped, frozen where I stood by the venom in the way he'd hurled them at me. "You were my brother, Anakin," I murmured, feeling broken and utterly lost. "I loved you."

The medical droid adjusted something on the console, and Anakin groaned, his face twisting in pain behind the breath mask as his eyes slipped closed and his body went limp. Healer Risto murmured something to the medical droid that I didn't catch. Belatedly, I realized that Onasi was staring at Anakin and me with a very strange look on his face.

Force, I could only wonder what he must be thinking after that little display. "Stars' end," I muttered to myself.

Yoda hobbled forward. "Commander Onasi," he ordered. "Leave us, you must."

He turned to Yoda as if he would protest. "Master Yoda," he started.

"Much to discuss, Master Kenobi and I have," Yoda said in the tone of voice that I had never heard anyone argue with.

Onasi didn't look happy about it, but he left the room. As the door slid shut behind him Yoda raised his eyes to the girl, but she shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere," she said stubbornly. "I don't care what you say, Master, or you, General. I have to keep an eye on my patient."

"I doubt anything we say will come as much of a surprise to her, anyway, by this point, Master," I pointed out wearily as Yoda started to respond. "Anakin threw me into a wall with the Force earlier, and she hasn't tossed us out of this medical facility yet."

She grinned and sent me a wry look, dismissing the medical droid with a word and a wave of her hand. "Yet, General Kenobi?"

Yoda sighed. "It seems, then, into our confidence we must take you, Healer Risto." He shook his head. "Dark times, these have become. In grave danger, we are, especially . . . young Skywalker. From others, yes—and from himself."

"From himself?" she repeated quietly. "Master Yoda—General Kenobi—something terrible's happened, hasn't it?"

"Anything of the Jedi Order, know you?" Yoda asked her in return, and she nodded, hesitating slightly.

"A little," she said shortly, looking away. I caught a flash of the same old bitterness that had been in her voice earlier when she spoke about Jedi in her eyes as she did so and wondered what had happened to her to give her that kind of reaction.

"Fallen . . . to the dark side, Jedi Skywalker has," Yoda said heavily.

Her eyes flicked to me, and I looked away, unable to look into their disconcertingly blue depths and not knowing if she would be looking at me with accusation, with betrayal, since I had concealed this from her. I half expected her to scream, to leap away from his bedside and refuse to endanger herself by caring for a Dark Lord of the Sith. I wouldn't have blamed her if she had.

But she did none of those things. "That explains a bit," she said. "Not everything, mind you, but I know better than to expect a _Jedi _to tell someone like me everything." She gave a slight shake of her head and turned back to Anakin, flicking a switch on the control board on his bedside. "Talk away."

Yoda looked up at me wearily. "A dangerous situation this is, Master Obi-Wan," he said. "Vader through the Force Sidious will track—content to leave him unaccounted for, he will not be. In danger, your choice has put us."

"I'm sorry, Master Yoda," I said softly. _So he doesn't think I made the right decision, after all._ "But how could I have just . . . left him there? He asked—" I could feel my throat closing up and struggled for control, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "He is still like my brother, Master. I couldn't do it." _Not when he touched me through the Force and begged me to help him in his fear and pain. Not when I saw Anakin there instead of Vader. Not while I still had a shred of hope that my friend might not be lost forever._

Yoda shrugged. "Perhaps, the right decision you have made. Uncertain, it is. Always in motion is the future. This, many times, have I told you. Now—in danger, we are, that Sidious might find us here. Give up easily, he will not, when faced with the disappearance of his new apprentice."

"I know, Master Yoda," I said. "But he's too fragile to be moved now." He didn't respond, merely stared at Anakin's unconscious body. "What are we going to do?" I prompted.

"For now?" he asked. "For now, Obi-Wan, nothing we do but—hope. Trust the Force. As you said, too fragile, he is."

"Master—" I hesitated, but I had to tell him. "Did you receive my communication that Senator Amidala is here as well?"

"Received it, I did, Obi-Wan," he replied. "Explain, will you?"

I took a deep breath. "It has come to my attention recently . . . that Anakin and Senator Amidala were secretly married some time ago. She . . . is carrying his children, Master."

"Married, you say?" Yoda said, surprise in his voice, and I nodded.

"Yes, Master."

He looked down at the floor, tapping his cane thoughtfully against it. "Children," he mused. "Interesting this is, Obi-Wan. Protect these children, we must." He looked up at me again. "Even if from their father, it must be."

I nodded, swallowing hard, but it was something I had already considered. "Yes, Master."

Yoda turned toward the door. "With your old apprentice stay, for a time, Master Kenobi," he said. "With Commander Onasi, I must speak." I nodded again and watched as he left the room.

I'd never felt so tired in my life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Okay, we've finally got some rational Ani/Obi contact, Eruvyweth.

To Fragile Dreams: I'm so happy you enjoyed the last too chapters! I was worried I was overdoing it on the anger and angst, so I'm happy to hear you liked it. And I have to agree with you about the RotS novelization. I was starting to cry when I read it--unfortunately, I was reading it in class when I was supposed to be paying attention, so that was a bit awkward. Oops!

The OCs continue to have lives of their own. Oh well, I give up. I'll just let them do whatever they want.

Anyone notice where Onasi's name came from?

Six

"General Kenobi?"

I looked up from Anakin's unconscious form toward the girl medic.

She set her hands on her hips, and I winced as I felt another lecture coming on. "Do you realize that you're wavering on your feet even as you stand there? You're positively gray with exhaustion, General. Every time I look at you I'm surprised you haven't collapsed from it yet."

I shook my head, looking back at Anakin. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine."

She glared at me. "Do they teach all Jedi to be this self-sacrificing, or is it just you, Kenobi?"

"There are more important things to worry about right now, Healer Risto."

"You need rest!" she snapped, eyes flashing blue fire. "I don't care if there are more _important _things to worry about. I'm a Healer, and I'm concerned about the health of someone under my supervision. That's what I _do_. Do you think I want another patient on my hands? As if I didn't have enough to deal with already. Stars' end! I'll sedate you if there's no other way to get you to rest, General Kenobi."

"No need for such drastic measures," I assured her. "I'll get some rest soon enough."

"When? Once you collapse at my feet?"

"Hopefully before then," I replied, bracing myself against the wall again. She was right; I couldn't remember ever feeling so tired, and the desire to lean back and close my eyes—just for a moment—was almost unbearable.

"I'll keep an eye on him if you want to get some rest," she said, more gently. "There's no reason for you to stay—"

"Master Yoda told me to stay with him," I interrupted wearily.

"I can do that," she said. "Really. I am a qualified Healer, you know."

I took a deep, long breath and reminded myself that she was only trying to help me. "I need to stay," I said softly, looking down at Anakin's prone form. I couldn't leave him. What if he needed me?

I had already failed to be there for him when he needed me. I couldn't abandon him again. I laid my hand against the back of Anakin's neck as gently as I could, not wanting to hurt him but feeling that I needed to reach out to him somehow. His neck was one of the least badly burned parts of his skin I could see, and so seemed relatively safe to touch. His presence was dull and fogged, distanced from me and the rest of the galaxy by the drugs they had given him. Even the physical contact didn't strengthen our connection much, but I didn't want to take my hand away.

At least he wasn't awake to curse at me, to remind me of what he had become.

"What are you giving him?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the memory of his hate-filled eyes, his face twisted with fury and pain that had never belonged there.

"A mixture of level-three sedatives and several designed for Force-users," she answered hesitantly. "I hate to do it, but he's already proved he's dangerous, and it might protect him from whatever you were talking about if he's so far under he can barely feel the Force. I've done it before with badly injured Jedi."

The Healer was right, that might buy us some time—and we needed all the time we could get. Still, it made me ache inside to think of Anakin cut off from the Force like that. Even more than most Jedi, Anakin lived and breathed his connection to the mystical energy field that surrounded all things.

I brushed my fingers over the silky tendrils of hair curling against the back of Anakin's neck and took my hand away, intending to straighten up—

The next thing I knew everything was fading out into gray, and the world was spinning all around me. I blinked several times and only then realized that Healer Risto was supporting me with an arm around my waist. "Easy there, General," she said. "Don't push it."

"What—?" I started fuzzily.

She eased me down onto the side of Anakin's bed. "That's what happens when you don't pay attention to your body telling you to rest, tough guy."

I stared up at her in confusion. I had been absolutely exhausted before without passing out like this.

"How long have you been running on empty, anyway?" she asked, pressing her hand against my forehead. She bit her lip, then tugged slightly on my tunic. "I want to see you out of this."

"P-pardon?" I stammered, distracted from blearily searching my mind for the answer to her question.

She gave me a long-suffering look. "How am I supposed to examine you with a shirt on, General Kenobi?"

I could feel the tell-tale flush heating up my cheeks again. Siri had used to tease me about my modesty, saying that there was absolutely no reason for me to be uncomfortable disrobing in front of others.

But the fact remained that the _last_ thing I wanted was to take off my tunic and sit in front of this young female medic half-naked. It was . . . it was _humiliating_.

"That's . . . not necessary," I said quickly.

Her eyes flashed gray-blue fire. "General Kenobi, in my presence alone you've been slammed up against a wall, choked with the Force, and grayed out from exhaustion. And I don't like the look of these tears and burn marks in your outer tunic, either. I'm going to examine you before you end up passing out at my feet. Either you take your tunic off, or I take it off for you, and you're too tired to stop me."

I opened my mouth to protest again, even though I knew she was right, but she interrupted me. "General Kenobi." She said it firmly, and then without even blinking laid her hands on my utility belt and started to unfasten it.

I shoved her hands away in what was not at all the dignified manner becoming a Jedi master. "I'll do it," I muttered absolutely gracelessly. I could feel my cheeks burning.

She smiled and stepped back. "I knew you'd see it my way."

"Who am I to argue with you?" I said sarcastically, shrugging unhappily out of my outer tunic. My other one followed it, and I was sitting on the edge of Anakin's medical bed and shivering slightly in the air of the room.

She laid her hands on my ribs first, pushing lightly, and her eyes narrowed as I sucked in my breath at the pain that spiked through me. "These are cracked," she said disapprovingly. "You told me you were all right."

I shrugged, then regretted it. "Nothing—ouch—broken."

She rolled her eyes again. "Jedi."

The rest of her examination passed quickly enough, though every minute I spent with her cool, professional touch skimming over my skin my blush deepened until my face felt positively radioactive. She smiled a little when she pulled away, and I ducked my head, humiliated by the embarrassment that had caused me. Most medical exams were done by droids, and that didn't bother me. Even the Jedi Healers bothered me, though I had learned to keep my embarrassment under control while they examined me.

I was just modest, I supposed. Incurably so.

"Well, not too bad," she said, and gave my cheek a light touch. "You can stop blushing, General. And you can put those back on." She nodded at the tunics in my lap, and I hastened to pull them back over my shoulders. "I have to file a report on the two of you," she told me, starting toward the door. "I'll be back soon enough."

I nodded. "I understand."

She grimaced. "When I come back, you're getting some rest, General Kenobi. Whether you like it or not." At the door she turned back around as it wooshed open. "General," she added, and gave my still only half-covered chest a very deliberate once-over. "Believe me—you've got _nothing_ to be embarrassed over."

She was gone before I managed to snap my mouth closed, and I could feel my cheeks flaming again.

The woman was crazy, I told myself, steadying myself with one hand on the bed.

Totally crazy.

_It was the dreams that finally brought him, shaking and terrified, out of the pain-filled red-streaked darkness that clung to him and blanketed his mind with fuzzy incomprehension. His mom was in them, but she was made out of fragile glass that shattered even as he reached eagerly to embrace her, the shards flying into his face, his arms, his chest and drawing blood that ran down his arms, stained his hands. And Padmé—but when he opened his arms to her she turned away, her tear-filled voice echoing in his ears, "Obi-Wan told me terrible things—terrible things—I don't know you anymore!"_

_And then there was Obi-Wan, looking at him with sadness, with grief and guilt and anger and pain and horror and resignation, and saying, "It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground." His face shifted into that of Palpatine, who called him Lord Vader and told him that Padmé was dead, and Obi-Wan was dead, and the Jedi were dead, and that it was all his fault, and told him, "Good, good. You are fulfilling your destiny." Anakin wanted to scream that it wasn't good, how could it be good, because everyone he cared about was dead, and he was the one who had killed them, but he couldn't because there was a black mask over his face and he couldn't breathe right and he couldn't scream—_

_He woke with a strangled sob that was swallowed by whatever it was over his mouth and nose that sucked his breath away, and he realized with a jolt of terror that he _couldn't _breathe, he couldn't—_

"_Easy." There was a gentle, calming hand on the back of his neck, rough with lightsaber calluses and scars, a familiar hand. "Take a deep breath. Relax. Don't fight it."_

_It was the last thing Anakin wanted to do, he wanted to fight and strain for air, but on some deep level he couldn't even put into thoughts he trusted the owner of that voice, and he so he obeyed, relaxed every muscle in his body with an effort and let his trembling body sink into the softness around him. After a moment the machine took over and his lungs expanded and filled with air and contracted to expel carbon dioxide, and he could breathe again as long as he didn't try taking a breath on his own._

_That hand moved as if to stroke the back of his head and Anakin wanted it to, because that would be comforting and he _needed _comforting right then, but it stilled in mid-motion and pulled away from his neck._

_He shivered in protest and raised his head, struggling to open his eyes and clear his vision, and his gaze fell on Obi-Wan, shoulders slumped and sandy-brown hair falling unruly into his eyes as it only ever did when he was too tired to sweep it back, sitting on the edge of the bed, and everything came rushing back at once. A red-hot wave of rage and pain and anger so intense it made the spot behind his eyes ache and his teeth go on edge roiled up from his belly and swept over him. "What . . . are _you_ . . . doing here?" he growled, but it took a lot more effort and sounded a lot more pathetic than he wanted it to, and he was left gasping for air again until he remembered that he couldn't breathe unless he let the respirator take over. Anakin tried to relax and let it breathe for him, eyes narrowed to slits to watch the enemy sitting on the edge of the bed._

_Obi-Wan looked sad and tired, and that only made him angrier. Obi-Wan had no right to look so forlorn while Anakin was so hurt and angry. But at the same time he wanted to make Obi-Wan hurt and grieve as much as Anakin did, some part of him deep down inside wanted to cheer him up and chase that sadness from his eyes, the weariness from his face. Anakin clamped down on that part of himself, gritting his teeth. He was Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. Obi-Wan had betrayed him. Lied to him. It was Obi-Wan's fault he was lying here in such pain._

_Obi-Wan's fault._

_He felt nothing for him any longer, nothing except rage and hatred._

"_I'm looking after you," Obi-Wan said, rubbing his forehead that way he did when he was getting a headache, and Anakin wanted to massage his shoulders and jolly him out of it the way he always did until he remembered that Obi-Wan was his enemy, and Obi-Wan had hurt him, and that Sith Lords didn't _care _about things like their enemies having headaches. No matter who that enemy had once been._

"_Little late for that, _Master_," he rasped, and Vader relished the agony that twisted Obi-Wan's face, the defeat in the way his shoulders slumped a little more._

"_It's never too late, Anakin," he whispered._

_Those words unleashed a flood somewhere within Anakin-Vader's heart as if a dam had splintered into a thousand pieces. "Never too late?" he choked. "Never too _late_? It was too late for mom, wasn't it? It was too late for _Qui-Gon_!" That part of him that gloried in his newfound power felt a surge of satisfaction at seeing the raw pain flash across Obi-Wan's features. "And it's . . . too late for . . . me!"_

_The rush of angry words had taken all of his strength, and Anakin found himself choking and gasping for air again, unable to bring any into his tortured lungs. Obi-Wan caught and held him as he fought, one weathered hand on his cheek, the fingers in his hair, holding his head still, and murmured soothingly, telling him to relax as he massaged the back of his neck, thumb making little circles on his cheekbone until Anakin managed to force his body to relax and the machine caught again and he could breathe. Anakin hated him for his gentleness, his forgiveness, when anyone else, anyone _normal_, would have left him to struggle and fight for air._

"_I hate you," he mumbled into the pillow beneath his head._

_Obi-Wan took his hand away, and Anakin hated the part of himself that missed it, too. "I know," the Jedi Master said miserably. "I'm sorry, Anakin. I know I failed you. I don't know how, but I know—I did fail you."_

That's right! _Anakin wanted to scream. You failed me—you weren't there when I needed you, you hid the power of the Jedi from me when I needed it to save Padmé, you held me back and kept me from reaching my full potential, potential I could have used to save mom, save Padmé, save—all you cared about was the kriffing Council and what they kriffing wanted and I was never_ kriffing good enough_, I never measured up, never competed with that—and . . . and all I wanted . . . was to make you notice me . . . make you . . . proud of me . . . . But in the end, I failed you. And why are you still saying it was you, you IDIOT!_

_Anakin buried his head in the pillow and tried to ignore the tears leaking out of his eyes and slipping down his cheeks, pooling on the plastic surface of the breath mask and making his face sloppy and wet and hot, soaking into the fabric beneath his face. He held his shoulders rigid to keep them from shaking and prayed that Obi-Wan would think he was asleep and leave him alone._

_The last thing Darth Vader wanted was for Obi-Wan Kenobi to see him cry._


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **So . . . this is sort of a nothing chapter, but it had to be written. Transitions, and all that. Onasi--many times great-grandson of Carth Onasi, wearer of the orange jacket and wielder of dual blasters that have saved me many times in battle--reveals what his place in the story might be, I try to work off of strange plot twists at the end of RotS, and I quote RotJ. I am not happy with it, but--oh _well_. Let's get on to more interesting chapters.

To Mrsphantom1029: I'm glad you found my story, and I'm happy that you like it!

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Obi-Wan knows he's not Darth Vader,Padme knows he's not Darth Vader, we all know he's not Darth Vader. Anakin and Sidious are the only ones who don't know. I wonder how long it will take them to figure it out (and I really do, which is a bad sign from the writer.) Poor Ani, he's such a mess . . . .

To Eruvyweth: Glad you continue to enjoy! I aim to please. Hopefully my next update will be more promising than the transitional chapter of doom that this turned out to be. Oh well. Obi-Wan needed some rest, anyway.

To Fragile Dreams: Wow! I'm impressed! Someone caught my pathetic attempt to nod in the direction of my favorite character from the Expanded Universe! I was in need of a career military family and I thought, "if the Onasi's had stayed military it would be a pretty impressive tradition by now," and thus the character of Aerdin Onasi was born. I'm glad you like Healer Risto. I like her too. I needed _something_ to lighten the mood, and Threepio and Artoo are stuck back on the ship. As for the rational Ani/Padme contact . . . well, I'm working on it.

Seven

I felt as if my heart had been scraped raw and my emotions were bubbling right there, next to the surface, ready to boil over with the slightest provocation. It wasn't a feeling I was used to, I who prided myself on my control. I'd faced down countless enemies without so much as breaking a sweat, stared death in the face without so much as trembling, but now it felt as if one wrong word would turn me into a quivering heap of emotional wreckage. It was all I could do to keep myself from breaking down after Anakin turned away from me, shutting me out as clearly as if a wall had slammed down between us.

But I was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight and Master. I didn't break down and cry. No matter how much it hurt.

I was leaving Anakin's room when Onasi found me. "General Kenobi?" he said in that clipped military tone.

"Yes, Commander?" I replied wearily, somehow managing to straighten my shoulders and look him steadily in the eyes. He was taller than me, and that irritated me, I admit, even though I knew the sentiment was entirely unworthy of a Jedi Master.

"I was hoping to speak with you," he said.

I knew I stiffened at that, but I made an effort to be civil, at least. I had absolutely no idea why this man irritated me so much, but there was no reason to be rude. "Very well," I said, and my tone was short even though I was struggling to be polite. I searched for some safe topic of conversation, something that we could possibly have in common, as I followed him away from the medical room to the patient lounge at the end of the hall. Finally, I hit upon a possibility, just as our silence was beginning to become even more uncomfortable than it had been before. "You aren't by any chance related to Admiral Carth Onasi, are you?" I asked.

The man looked surprised. "Yes, he was my many-times great-grandfather. Why?"

I shrugged. "I studied the Onasi defenses at the Battle of the Star Forge and the second battle of Telos and his offensives during the Mandalorian and Jedi Civil Wars while I was at the Temple. They were brilliant. I used some of his strategies at Cato Neimoidia."

Onasi's jaw relaxed just slightly, and his shoulders straightened in obvious pride of his illustrious ancestor. "I'm surprised a Jedi like you would know that, Kenobi," he said.

What a way to give a compliment, as if all Jedi were peace-loving fools without the intelligence to study strategy or tactics. I might not have _enjoyed_ war, but that didn't mean I couldn't understand it. "I've always been interested in military history," I replied as mildly as I could and took up a position leaning against the wall. "What did you want to speak with me about?"

Onasi crossed his arms across his chest and leaned forward in what was obviously a confrontational stance. I sighed and readied myself for an unpleasant scene.

"Do you have any idea what you're risking, Kenobi?" he demanded in a tone so harsh it made even me wince. "What are you playing at? If what Yoda tells me is true, that _thing_ lying on the bed in there—"

"Don't call him that." Even I was surprised at the venom in my tone.

He actually looked genuinely blank. "What?"

"That _thing_, as if he isn't even—" I took a deep, shaking breath "—as if he isn't even a person anymore."

Onasi looked at me as if I had sprouted another head, true horror in his gaze. "Kenobi," he said, "that man is a mass-murderer. He killed your comrades and destroyed everything we fought for. He would have killed you. He is a _monster_. Why are you still protecting him?"

I looked away. "Because—because he is my friend. And I don't believe that he is past redemption." But I wasn't sure if that was any part of the truth. The memory of Anakin's hate-filled eyes came to mind and I swallowed hard. Was I being a sentimental fool and letting my feelings for my friend blind me to what he had become? Had I made a terrible mistake? What was wrong with me, anyway, that I _didn't _want to destroy the murderer of all I had ever known or cared about?

"He is your _friend_?" Onasi repeated incredulously. "Kenobi, that man is no longer your friend, no longer the boy you trained. Accept it. Anakin Skywalker is dead."

I literally flinched at that, pain blossoming within my heart. I took a deep breath and struggled to steady myself. "From a certain point of view," I replied.

He raised his eyebrows. "A certain point of view?"

"Commander," I said, pushing myself away from the wall. "You'll find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly upon our own points of view."

I still don't know where that came from. But it shut Onasi up, and as I walked past him he was still staring blankly at me.

I'm not going to pretend that wasn't gratifying.

But as I walked away his words echoed through my head, and I shivered.

What if I was making a mistake? What if Anakin Skywalker was lost, and the only person I'd saved was Darth Vader—his murderer?

What if my desperate actions meant the death of hope for all of us?

"_What is troubling you, Obi-Wan?"_

_It had been a long time since I'd heard that voice. My eyes flew open and I sat up to see Qui-Gon Jinn sitting nonchalantly on the edge of the table, glowing slightly around the edges. "M-Master?" I whispered, hardly daring to believe my eyes._

_He got up and came to perch on the edge of the bunk in the room Healer Risto had given me. "Did I not ask you a question, my young apprentice?"_

"_Not so young, anymore," I told him._

_He shrugged. "You will always be young to me."_

_I sniffed back the tears that had been all too close to the surface lately—at least these were anything but tears of pain. "How—how—?" I stammered._

"_I think that can wait for later," Qui-Gon said meditatively. "Listen, my Padawan. You are a wise man. I once told you that you were a much wiser man than I, and to that I still hold. You simply need to learn not to doubt yourself. Commander Onasi speaks from the knowledge of military life, but you and Anakin do not come from military life—you are Jedi."_

"_But Master, I—what if I am wrong, what if—" I couldn't bring myself to speak the words, even if only in a dream or whatever this was, so I faded off into silence._

_Qui-Gon smiled and shook his head. "Why do I sense you are doubting yourself again, Padawan? Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. Keep your attention here and now where it belongs."_

"_Yes, master," I said automatically, and then smiled, both at myself and him. "It's . . . good . . . to see you again, master."_

_He reached out and rested his arm around my shoulders. The weight was comforting, reassuring, and I leaned into it gratefully. "The feeling is mutual, my apprentice," he says softly._

"_I missed you," I whispered into his glowing robe. I felt as though he should have been intangible, glowing like that, but for some reason he wasn't._

"_I know," he says, and hugs me a little closer for a moment more before he fades away back into the night._


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **In which we discover that Aerdin Onasi inherited very little of his ancestor's personality and Healer Risto's first name, among other things. I think I actually gave this story a plot! To quote C-3PO, I never knew I had it in me.

To Lady Cora: I believe I labeled the last chapter as nothing because it took me nearly four hours to write (hours in which I should have been writing a paper--ah well, c'est la vie), and I only got about three pages out of it. I'm used to writing coming more easily than that, I suppose. Still, now that I re-read I like it more than I thought I did. I guess I'm better than even I know! And I enjoyed Obi-Wan getting Onasi to shut up too!

To Caslia: Glad you like it! I'm especially pleased that you think Obi-Wan is in character. I guess watching RotS over and over again to analyze his character paid off (internet file-sharing is a wondrous thing, if slightly illegal; though I will of course buy RotS on DVD as soon as humanly possible)!

To Storyteller Person: Yay! Another reviewer! I'm so happy! I like your name, btw. That's what I think of myself as, a "storytelling person."

To Hieiko: Glad you liked. I enjoyed writing Qui-Gon. Don't have a lot of practice at that.

To Eruvyweth: Awesome. I appreciate your compliments so much I can't even say. How many glowy-blue-Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan encounters have you read, anyway? Here's another chapter to slake your ravenous hunger. ;)

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: It's a deal. And while you're at it, tell Sidious that I think he's a manipulative jerk and that I cheer every time I watch him get tossed down the reactor shaft in RotJ. As for Anakin . . . he's still struggling, but let's just say he's working on it.

To Fragile Dreams: Wow, thanks. I'm so glad you thought it was brilliant. I just tend to look askance at writing that produces headaches ;). I really enjoyed writing the confrontation between Obi-Wan and Onasi, too. "You'll find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly upon our own points of view," is one of my favorite lines in the entire Star Wars saga, and I had to work it in somehow. I think Obi-Wan has this very snarky side that he only shows sometimes, and I wanted to give him a chance to go with that a little. And I agree with you about Obi-Wan's doubt--I just want him to have faith and trust Anakin, but his character just isn't there yet . . . it's so sad. And I'm glad it made you feel warm and fuzzy.

I just realized I've been forgetting the necessary disclaimer, so here it is: I own nothing; The Flanneled One and Lucasfilm own all. Don't sue me, I'm a starving college student anyway, so you won't get anything out of it. Unnecessary suits are a thing of the Dark Side.

Eight

_There was someone else in the room with him. They had increased the dosage of the drugs they were pumping into his system, so Anakin wasn't clear on who it was, but he could feel the presence even though the fuzziness blanketing everything, suppressing his awareness of the connecting power that was as much a part of him as breath. He didn't think it was Obi-Wan. It felt different, but trying to discern _how_ it felt different made his head ache and his thoughts go skittering off to separate corners of his brain so Anakin gave up on it._

_The awareness brought him out of a dull, drugged sleep, and Anakin wondered hazily if the other person was going to bother to do anything. Nothing seemed quite real at the moment, and he didn't mind that. If nothing was real, than he didn't have to struggle with anything, didn't have to hold onto anything . . . if nothing was real, than nothing he did or had done mattered._

"_Skywalker," came an unfamiliar voice, and Anakin's eyes fluttered slowly open at the sound of it in a vague desire to connect that voice to a body. A tall figure dressed in gray swam in front of him, and he blinked tiredly to clear his vision. It didn't work. "I hear you are calling yourself Vader these days."_

_Anakin tried to wet his lips, to speak, but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt too thick. "I—" he croaked, uncertain of what he was going to say. "I—" He didn't have the strength to force out another word. He wasn't sure who this man was or what he wanted from him, and with the fuzzy blanket of nothingness over his thoughts he didn't really care._

"_Yes, _you_, Skywalker," came the man's cutting voice. "It's all about you, isn't it? _You're_ the one who destroyed the Jedi, who killed the Separatists, who helped murder the Republic. You. Darth Vader." There was anger and pain and searing hatred in the man's voice. A strong, gloved hand seized his chin in a vise-like grip and dragged his head up so that the blue fire of his gaze bore into Anakin's eyes. The other man's mind was loud and sharp and Anakin stiffened, instinctively struggling to draw away from the pain those thoughts cut into him. "But you're just a boy," that angry voice continued. "Just a boy so damn drugged he can't even see straight."_

_He let go, and Anakin nearly wept with relief as his head dropped back down to the pillow. Normally he would have taken offense at that, demanded if anyone called _this _man the "Hero With No Fear," demanded to know when _he_ had fought the Separatists, what battles _he_ had lead, older or not, but now the haze between Anakin and the world was playing havoc on his connection to the Force, and when the man had touched him the sense had been jagged and painful. "Wha—" he struggled through cracked lips that didn't want to obey him. "Wha . . . you . . . wan' . . ."_

"_I want you to suffer for what you did," the man cried, his voice breaking, and there was pain behind it. "I want you to pay! You deserve to be punished, deserve to suffer. But Kenobi is too blind to see what a monster you are, and they won't punish you."_

_Even dazed and blurry-minded, Anakin didn't like what he was hearing. "I—" he said again, but his voice got stuck in his throat and he couldn't get it out past the dryness in his mouth._

_A hand brushed down over the bandages on his back, not in the gentle way the Healers or Obi-Wan had touched him but roughly and brutally, and Anakin gave a startled cry of agony. Pain jabbed through his body, playing up and down his back, and tears started in his eyes at the unrelenting sharpness like a thousand tiny needles stabbing into his flesh. He struggled to move away, to escape, but his body wouldn't obey and his head just flopped uselessly on the pillow. "Did Kenobi do this to you?" the man demanded. "Force, why didn't he just finish the job? What is _wrong _with him?"_

_Anakin vaguely remembered gentle arms pulling him back from the fire, cool, soothing power pouring into him and the feeling that was his Master, that was safety, encircling him. Had that been Obi-Wan?_

_Why _hadn't _he left him? Anakin didn't understand. He remembered pain, fire, burning, hurting—_

_The man leaned closer, bracing his hands on the pillow on either side of Anakin's head, and he was shocked, frightened out of his confusion. The part of him that was a slave and had always been a slave registered that looming presence and he was three again, being beaten for some imagined offense to Gardulla. He cried out and jerked away, his breath speeding up, coming too fast—and then he couldn't breathe at all and was left choking and suffocating, his chest heaving uselessly as he struggled and the respirator stole his rapid, too-shallow breaths from him._

"_So, you're married to Senator Amidala," the man said in a contemplative tone. He was watching Anakin gasp and fight for air as if it were a moderately interesting holovid, and Anakin felt a surge of white-hot anger. It should have given him strength, but his head was blank and blurred and he couldn't _feel _anything anymore. "I hear she's in critical condition. _Dying. _Because of you. Did you know that?"_

_Something in Anakin froze and broke. He remembered his hand closing into a fist, his fury, tightening, choking, anger and pain and rage, and Obi-Wan's voice ordering him to let her go, shock and horror and agony—and how could he have done that? How could she dare to leave him? Why? Why was she leaving him, when he'd done everything for her? Why had she gone to _Obi-Wan_, why had she chosen his master, who had always been better than him anyway?_

_What was so terribly wrong with him that no one he loved ever stayed with him?_

"_N-no," he whispered. Obi-Wan had told him that she was fine, hadn't he? Obi-Wan wouldn't have lied about that. He wouldn't have. And he had felt her! She was alive, she was okay, she _had _to be, she had to—he threw himself into the Force, searching for her, but he was cut off, he couldn't feel _anything_ except for this man's angry presence, and he was lost. "_NO!_" he screamed, and tears came to his eyes and even as blurred and distanced as he was the Force whirled around him and the man staggered back._

_But he couldn't keep it up for long, and soon all the anger and power drained out of him and he was left shattered and defeated, his breath sobbing slightly as terror and guilt shook his whole body. "No," he moaned._

_The man's hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head back. "It's all your fault," he hissed. "All of it."_

_And even though Anakin struggled, he couldn't escape from that iron hold._

I keyed open the door to Padmé's room and stepped inside, pleased to see her sitting up, shrouded in the white robe all the patients wore and looking more alert, though rather grumpy. I was still puzzling over the dream I'd had last night. It didn't make any sense—Qui-Gon was dead, I was certain of that much, and yet that had definitely been him, every detail exactly the way I remembered. Wishful thinking, I supposed.

It had been a . . . reassurance, anyway.

"Obi-Wan, I want to know what's going on," she said as I made my way to her side. "No one's told me anything since I got here. Where's Anakin? How is he? What's going on? What's happening with the—" a flash of pain tightened her pale features "—the Empire?"

"Slow down," I told her with a slight smile as I sat down. "One question at a time, please."

Padmé waited until I was seated, then said, "I want to know what's going on." I knew better than to argue with the look on her face.

"All right," I said. "All right. Yoda and a commander in Senator Organa's forces arrived yesterday." I could feel my voice sour and tense and cursed my lack of control.

She was studying my face closely. "You don't like him," she said, and I hesitated, but I was forced to nod. "Which one is it?" she asked.

"Commander Onasi," I said, and Padmé bit her lip. "What?" I asked.

She gave me a rueful smile. "He's all right, I suppose. But he's always been a bit . . . zealous for my taste."

"You don't like him either," I said with a bit of a smile.

She smiled back. "Not too much." Her smile faded. "How's Anakin?" I know she could see my hesitation. "Tell me, Obi-Wan," she ordered.

I looked down. "He's in the trauma center, in intensive care. I—I had no choice—" I was stumbling over my words, and she reached out and touched my hand.

"I know, Obi-Wan," she said. "I know. Is there—" she stopped, her face drawing tight and pale, and I knew what she was trying to ask.

"He's . . . confused," I said, uncertain. "Angry with me. But—"

"You can't give up on him, Obi-Wan," she said, her voice urgent. "He's not lost. Not completely. I know it."

"Padmé," I said helplessly, "he tried to kill you."

Her gaze was even, fearless, and her eyes held mine. "He was hurt and afraid. I know my Anakin, and there is still good in him. I _know_ it."

Again the love between them awed me. "I wish I had your faith," I murmured.

She smiled. "You do, Obi-Wan. It was you who saved him, after all. You just haven't found it yet."

I smiled back a little. "How can I argue with you, Senator?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but then her face twisted in agony. She brought her hands to her head in a quick, convulsive motion and gave a low moan of pain.

"Padmé?" I blurted, leaning over her. I had no idea what to do, even what was wrong with her, or how to help. "Padmé, what's—"

"It's Ani," she gasped, tears welling in her eyes, and gave a sharp intake of breath, her chest heaving. "He's—he's in pain—" her hands clenched in the fabric of my tunic as tears started to trickle down her cheeks. "Oh, Anakin—I'm here, my love, I'm all right—Anakin, no—"

I took her hands in mine. "Padmé—"

"He needs you, Obi-Wan," she gasped. "Go to him."

"But—are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" she said. Her breath was hoarse and ragged. "Go to Anakin, call Shian and I'll be fine—"

"Shian?" I said blankly.

"Healer Risto!" she snapped, and one part of my mind thought stupidly, _Oh, so that's her first name._

"Go to Anakin!" Padmé nearly screamed, and I obeyed, letting go of her hands and slapping the button that summoned the Healer on duty, then sprinting for the door.

I must have set a new record by the time it took me to reach Anakin's room. As I got closer and concentrated on Anakin I felt what Padmé must have felt—I had had no idea their bond was so strong, that a woman who wasn't even Force-sensitive could feel his pain even before I did—and the confusion and fear and hurt spiraling downward into darkness that emanated from him made my throat close up. I burst through the door, expecting to see some scene of horror, perhaps see him under attack, even. It took me a moment to orient myself, and for one terrible second I couldn't find him on the bed and thought he was gone.

But then my eyes focused on the limp body on the floor, and I realized that he had tumbled off the bed. His good arm was bleeding from where he had wrenched the IVs from it, and his face was messy and wet with tears. The breath mask had been torn off his face and his breath was coming short and fast and shallow, groaning in his chest. He was curled with his knees against his chest even though the position must have hurt, considering his injuries, and shaking almost convulsively.

I threw myself to my knees at his side and gathered him into my arms, careful not to touch the burns on his back, scooping his fragile form up off the ground and lifting him carefully onto the bed. Anakin gave a short, broken cry and grabbed hold of my tunic with his one hand, tugging me close, and I stopped in mid-motion, paralyzed by shock at him pulling me _closer_ to him. His tear-stained, desperate face lifted toward mine. "Y-you didn' lie, M-Master, di' you?" he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp. He stammered a few more words in Huttese in that pleading tone. I eased myself onto the bed and braced his head against my shoulder.

"What is it, Anakin?" I asked desperately. "What's wrong?"

"P-Padmé—she's no' . . . dyin', is she?" His voice was slurred and choppy from the drugs. "Tell me th' truth, O-Obi-Wan, p-please. I didn'—I didn' k-kill her. I c-couldn't have."

"She's fine, Anakin," I answered, shocked and baffled. Why would this fear, this unreasoning terror, have hit him now of all times? "She's fine. I told you already. She's more worried about you than anything."

He gave a hoarse, choked moan. "Y-you're tellin' me th' truth?" He whispered something further in Huttese, and I recognized a few expletives but had no idea what he was saying.

"Of course, Anakin," I said. I stroked his hair to calm him. "Always."

"C-can't f-feel her," he mumbled, tears still leaking out of his eyes, down his cheeks. "C-can't feel . . . anythin'. W-why, Master . . .? I can' feel _anything_."

I felt my throat close up and bent my head closer to his, desperate to soothe him, to calm him. "You remember that time on Myrkr? When it was as if the Force had been turned off and we had gone blind? It's . . . similar to that, they've given you some sedatives to help you calm down, to keep you safe. It's nothing to do with Padmé, nothing. I promise."

He was beginning to relax, his muscles unclenching, his fingers releasing their death grip on my tunic. "She's all right?" he whispered.

"Fine. She's fine." I imbued my words with the Force, giving them strength and power.

He rolled his face into my shoulder. "Promise? You—you wouldn' lie? E-everyone l-lies t' me, ever'one . . . ."

"I'm not lying to you, Anakin," I said, exasperated and aching for his pain and confusion at the same time.

He gave a tired sob. "O-okay. I—I trus' you, Obi-Wan."

My eyes filled, and I could feel a single tear escape and run down my cheek at the sheer wonder of him saying those words to me again. He just lay there, shaking, his weeping quieting now, and I moved to lay him back in the bed.

His hand tightened into a fist in my tunic. "S-stay," he pleaded, his voice little more than a wisp of sound.

And of course I did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Okay, another chapter. This one's formatting might be a little confusing. Um . . . the italics denote a POV other than Obi's, so normal text is speaking through the Force. I hope that makes sense.

To Storyteller Person: Glad you liked it. Yes, slowly but surely, our Ani is returning.

To Night of the Land: Wow, what a compliment! I'm so happy you like it so much!

To Fragile Dreams: . . . I don't know what to say. I'm so . . . thrilled that you enjoy my writing so much. I'm flattered, and so much more than that. To be called a true author is the highest compliment I've ever been paid, I think, and I'm so glad you enjoy my writing this much. I love Star Wars, and I have for so long, that the writing just seems to flow out of me--in Star Wars especially I feel connected to the characters. Other fanfic is more of a challenge, but it is Star Wars that is my favorite, always and forever. I've been a fan for so long (since before I can remember, no joke), and though I often drift away, I always come back.

To MissNaye: Of course, I can't reassure you as to Padme's fate, as that would damage the dramatic tension. But surely you don't believe I'd be that cruel?

To Queengoddess: I definitely know what you mean about the reading of a good fic, and I'm so glad my fic could give those feelings to you. I wish RotS had ended this way, too--but then we wouldn't have the Original Trilogy, would we? I'm glad you see a dichotomy between pain and hope in my story, because that is what I wanted. And of course I can't answer that question, but you know, I love Anakin too much to . . . well, let's just say I'm a sucker for happy endings ;). And I don't like Onasi too much, either, and I created him!

To Quill of Molliemon: Hey, if Onasi were real you'd have to stand in line! Yes, improvement's on its way between Ani and Obi, if only slowly

To IntelEwok: He so should have, but on one hand I can see why he didn't--Lucas, I hate you for making me love these characters so. I'm glad you found my story, too!

To SomeoneElsesDream: Wow . . . the best compliment an author has is to have stimulated someone's tear ducts, you know. I'm so pleased you think I'm in tune with the originals! I do my best to sing on key, after all.

To Hieiko: I probably shouldn't feel this good about making someone else cry, but thanks so much:)

To KTfanfic: Awesome. And hey, you're not the only one. (Just kidding--I do know where it's going, I do! Don't hurt me!)

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Doing my best to take care of Anakin, but the poor boy won't cooperate. Anakin and Obi-Wan have their ups and downs, but things are looking more hopeful between them these days, eh? I hope Sidious will never recover from your verbal assault. And Anakin will tell Obi-Wan about Onasi sometime soon.

To Jumpforjoy: That's what I feel like doing with all these reviews! Cool screenname! And I'm glad you think my story is turning out well.

Disclaimer: All belongs to the Flanneled One and Lucasfilm except Shian Risto and Aerdin Onasi, and they might as well.Don't sue me, I'm a starving college student so you won't get much anyway and unnecessary suits are a thing of the Dark Side--don't give in!

Nine

_Far across the galaxy, Darth Sidious felt a tremor in the Force. He sat up straight, immediately throwing himself into the black power that surrounded him, and found the familiar thrum of power that was his new apprentice, his presence diffuse and scattered now, vacillating confusedly between shadows and light and buried beneath layers of haze and blur, but distinctive all the same._

_Darth Sidious smiled._

_He'd lost track of Vader's presence after Kenobi had thrown his own Force-sense in front of the boy as a sort of shield and Vader was inexplicably distanced from him, shielded by a strangely familiar presence Sidious hadn't felt since . . . well, there was no point reflecting on that, it was foolishness. And then there had been so much uncertainty, so much blur, around the boy's sense that there hadn't been any point in trying to locate him._

_But this—this could be useful. This was progress. Vader was in a state of soul-deep emotional turmoil, broadcasting his confusion and pain through the Force. Even through the fuzzy miasma surrounding his presence his emotions were as clear as a Tatooine morning. Sidious tapped into the bond every master and apprentice shared, even those of the Sith, and sent questing tendrils of darkness out to curl around Vader's mind._

_The boy's whole sense flinched. _Get-get away from me,_ came the frightened, instinctual response. _Stay out of my _head_! _Anger there, and fear, and the beginnings of guilt._

_He was trying to pull away, Sidious realized, and his mouth curled downward in a frown of displeasure. Surely Kenobi could not have reached Skywalker so quickly. The idea was ludicrous. Something else must have happened . . . something that had shaken the boy's faith in the Dark Side. But Skywalker would find it wasn't so easy to walk away from the teachings of the Sith. From Sidious himself. Once the darkness was tasted, to drink deep of it was a temptation few could withstand, and Skywalker had fallen easily . . . so easily, his passionate emotions and volatile nature making him easy prey for a Sith Lord who prided himself on being a master manipulator._

_Sidious allowed himself a dark smile. The boy hadn't even had a chance. Sidious had had the dark threads of his influence woven deep into Anakin's mind before the young Jedi had even realized they were there._

Turning your back on me, my young apprentice? _Sidious taunted. _So easy, isn't it? Easy to turn your back, easy to turn on the Jedi, to ignore the screams of the children as you slaughter them one by one—easy to turn on Kenobi, easy to choke the breath out of the woman you "can't live without" as soon as she betrays you. Is there anything you won't abandon?

_Anakin's presence convulsed with waves of guilt. _I—I—I didn't mean—

But you did, Lord Vader. You meant it all, and reveled in the power it gave you. And this is but a taste of the Dark Side! Imagine what you will be able to accomplish when you have tapped into it fully, when there is unlimited power at your fingertips and the galaxy lies at your feet. _Our _feet.

_Winces of uncertainty. _I—but I hurt her, and I didn't mean to—never meant to—_and with that came twisted waves of emotion; pure, aching love mixed up with pain and guilt and anger and betrayal—images of Padmé in Anakin's arms, his face pressed to her hair, the picture of Anakin with his hand resting on her rounded stomach and pride and love on his face, boundless joy in hers, a picture of her in a white lace dress not even wincing as she took the cold, metallic fingers of his mechanical hand in hers and reached up to kiss him—but together with those were flashes of Obi-Wan standing on the ramp of a starship, Padmé's voice—_"I don't know you anymore!"_—confused pictures of Obi-Wan bending over Padmé as she sobbed in pain and saying softly, encouragingly, _"Don't give up, Padmé," _and the fear, the ever-encompassing fear that it was his Master she loved, that Obi-Wan had taken her from him, warped, distorted pictures, not quite memory, in which she rested in Obi-Wan's arms instead of Anakin's, and it was his lips she kissed, his children she bore—_

What good is power when all it does is hurt? _Anakin's sense moaned, and it was full of agony, raw and bleeding with the pain of it._

She deserved it, _Sidious hissed. _She betrayed you, she chose him over you, Obi-Wan, your master—doesn't that hurt?—she never really loved you, did she? Not really. She abandoned you as soon as you began to realize your full potential!

I don't want to realize my full potential if she's not there with me! _Anakin wailed hopelessly, his sense flailing and lost in the whirlwind of pain. _Why? All I wanted was to fix things, to make things right, to have the power to—

And what thanks did you get for that? She's not worthy of you if she cannot see how powerful you have become, what you have to offer her.

_But Anakin's mind screamed in denial at that. _She's all I ever wanted!

All? _Sidious questioned. _All, my young apprentice? _And he sent him images, feelings plucked from Anakin's own mind, of Anakin glorying in the slaughter of the Sand People as their deaths assuaged the pain inside, of laughing as he dodged Separatist ships, the adrenaline rush of a Podrace, the pure joy of a perfect lightsaber drill, the contentment of Obi-Wan's companionship on a mission, the ecstatic thrill of a simple "Well done," from his master, the darker, hypnotic enticement as he stepped closer and closer to darkness, the fulfillment of severing Nute Gunray's head from his shoulders, dark jubilation at the defeat of enemies, taunting laughter. Shadowy fantasies of returning to Tatooine and plucking Watto's wings from his back with the Force and laughing as the Toydarian fell and burst on the rocks like a ripe fruit, of severing Gardulla's thick head from her sluglike body, of laughing in triumph as he freed the slaves, of choking out Sebulba's life with a single hand clenched into a fist. Dreams of freedom and power and adoration and love._

_And Anakin floundered in the morass of his own emotions, in the backlash of the thoughts and memories Sidious had ripped from his own heart and thrown at him, drowning in the darkness, confused and broken and bleeding inside, and Sidious felt it and laughed. Vader was his. He could fight, but he could never truly be free. _Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, _he taunted in a parody of the words Yoda had used so often to warn away from the darkness._

_But somewhere Skywalker found the strength to pull himself out of the shadows and confusion. _I-it's never too late, _his mental voice whispered uncertainly. _N-not for me, not for anyone.

_Sidious sneered at that. _Sweet, but useless, my young apprentice._ He brutally shoved more images at Anakin, of the children he'd slaughtered, Jedi lying dead and broken amid the wreckage of a thousand war-torn worlds, the Separatist leaders ripped apart by his lightsaber blade, his mother, dying in his arms, Qui-Gon Jinn's body consumed by flames. _It will be too late for Padmé, too,_ he added, twisting the lightsaber after driving it in_, unless you use the power of the Dark Side to save her.

But I didn't save her! _Anakin moaned. _I—I hurt her . . . .

And whose fault is that? _Sidious asked slyly. _Master Kenobi's, perhaps? _He tugged at the image of Obi-Wan standing atop a ship's ramp to the forefront of his apprentice's mind, forcing Anakin to feel the agony of betrayal, loss, the anger that it shifted into along with the pain, all over again._

_Anakin shied away from the image, focusing instead on fragmented memories of a brother flying at his wing, comforting him after the loss of an arm, words, "I am very proud of you . . . You are a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be," a gentle, callused hand at his neck, strong, steadying arms lifting him, cradling him, warm and safe because this was Obi-Wan, this was brother and father and teacher and best friend all in one._

_Sidious twisted those into the clash of lightsaber against lightsaber and no mercy from the man Anakin had once called brother, scathing denouncements—"Your anger and your lust for power—you have done that yourself—then you are lost!"—Obi-Wan looking down at him from above him, reminding him that he had the high ground, the searing pain as his leg was severed and he fell—and earlier memories, of times when Anakin was never good enough and could never do anything right, when all Obi-Wan ever did was find fault and put him down and criticize—_

_He could feel it as Anakin crumpled and waves of loss and agony coalesced into dark anger, emotional collapse morphed into helpless acquiescence. _He hurt me, _his mental voice mumbled. _I—I don't know—

_Bright light broke over them, pulling Anakin away, cradling him in acceptance and gentleness, and Sidious shied away, the uncertain contact shattering into a thousand pieces. He threw out a probe again, searching for Anakin's presence, but he was met by fierce resistance, protective light. _Leave the boy alone,_ came the voice of Qui-Gon Jinn._ Stay in the shadows where you belong, Sith! He is not your plaything, for youto twist his mind as you will.

_It was impossible, but Sidious could no longer reach his apprentice through the Force._


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took me so long to update. Went home for the weekend and there wasn't any Internet access. Ah well. Plus I had trouble getting inspiration--but don't worry, it's back.

To Night of the Land: Glad you thought it was awesome.

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Yeah, a word with Anakin might help the situation out a little--he's being a bit stubborn. You know Ani . . . .

To Quill of Molliemon: Yeah, Palpatine is . . . shudders. That's about the only way I can express it. You know a guy is bad when the actor who plays him thinks he's been "evil since birth." And yeah, Onasi isn't much compared to Palpatine. He isn't supposed to be, though he's supposed to be quite nasty in his own right.

To KTfanfic: I was surprised when the idea for Qui-Gon to the rescue came to me, but I went with it and now I really like it. Yeah, if I had my way Sidious would be cut off from the _galaxy_. But then we wouldn't have an ultimate bad guy, so oh well.

To Go For It: Don't worry about putting it in the right words--I love all reviews anyway! But thanks so much for reviewing me. I'm so happy that you feel that way about my story . . . I tell you truly, reviews like this are the reason I've been able to write this story so comparatively quickly.

To MissNaye: Did you like that? I thought it was a good touch, myself.

To SomeoneElsesDream: Thanks so much! "It is easy for me, having seen the movies, to picture exactly what you are writing."--One of the best compliments a fanfic writer can receive! I always try to see if I can hear the actors saying the lines I'm writing . . . .

To Eruvyweth: You can start your reviews with any word you like, you know. I'm . . . honored that you think my writing deserves that kind of praise. I'm proud of the later part of Chapter Nine, so I'm glad you enjoyed it as well. And I'm so glad you think so highly of my work--I can't express it.

To Julie Horwitz: The idea just sort of tumbled out of watching Rots for the first time (even though I started it before I actually saw the movie, I didn't get very far before I lost interest and seeing the movie revitalized it). I'm honored you've added me to your favorites and keep reading!

To Optimus Primal: Jedi Maximal: Long name. I'm glad you like my heavy detail about the darkness and so forth. It's a struggle, but I don't think turning back from the Dark Side would be that easy. It strikes me as kind of like a drug--the more you use it, the easier it becomes and the harder it becomes to turn away from it. I'm trying to express that level of difficulty in my story.

Princess-Aiel: Wow, thanks! The interaction between Obi-Wan and Anakin (and Padme) is what it's all about for me, as well. Especially Obi and Ani.

To Queengoddess: Yeah, take that, Sidious! The Sith Mastermind is an interesting character to write (and I think I actually got into writing him better this time than the first time I tried it), but I love to thwart him, too! About Anakin--I agree. There are parts of him that Sidious never touched, the parts that were stronger than he knew . . . . Yeah, Anakin and Obi-Wan being all sweet and brotherly is what it's all about (though there isn't much of that this time around--I'm as sad as you are).

To Hieiko: Intense? Cool! And you weren't the only one who was surprised (should I be admitting that?).

To Fragile Dreams: Well, I'm not going to complain about more reviews! And I can't even respond to your praise for my writing . . . I'm so happy you liked it! And I'm least certain about my ability to write suspense--so I'm thrilled you thought it was suspenseful (I don't think a writer ever knows if his or her writing is suspenseful, since the writer already knows what's going to happen--hopefully).

To Gilraen Aclamense: Cool name. And I'm working on the updating thing.

To ThoseWereTheDays: Glad you like it.

To Alley Parker: Glad you think so. I feel that way about RotS AUs, too. As you probably figured from me writing one.

To Anakin's Force: Wow--thanks. I haven't been brave enough to plunge into TFN yet. I definitely agree with you about Obi-Wan in canon--but for Obi-Wan it's all about what the Jedi want, and he went with that. So sad! cries And yeah, Padme's about to become a significantly more important character, I think.

To WoketteUK: Thanks! I'll try and make it live to expectations! (I can already hear Yoda--"do or do not . . . ")

To Mrs. A.Skywalker: Wow! Another board! Which one? I'm so shocked by this. And thrilled. Wow . . . . Thanks so much.

To Nicole: Thanks. I really appreciate your compliments. I'm glad you think it's so great. I don't think it's half bad, myself. ;)

Disclaimer: The Flanneled One and Lucasfilm own all. I'm not making any money of this, which means I don't have any. So don't sue, savvy?

Ten

I didn't sleep well that night. My sleep was disrupted by an endless stream of dreams— more like memories, twisted just slightly, as if the darkness had seeped into my mind and perverted my very thoughts—long ago, the fear of being sent to the Agri-Corps, battles with Xanatos, Qui-Gon's death and my first battle with a Sith, anger and guilt, the early days of Anakin's apprenticeship and the terrifying knowledge that I didn't have a clue what I was doing, the beginning of the Clone Wars and the ever-increasing doubt that I was doing the right thing by keeping silent about Anakin's relationship with Padmé, battles on a thousand worlds, pain and flame and darkness and death, Anakin's fingers closing into a fist and Padmé gasping for air and crumpling to the ground, the clash of saber against saber and fire all around us, the shock of my blade severing flesh, the pain in Anakin's voice as he screamed at me, falling—

And other images, too, of sandy flats and a crowded hovel and a junkshop I had never set foot in and a squat Toydarian floating over me and shouting, the thrill and adrenaline rush of a Podrace, moving too fast to see what was coming next with my eyes—but I'd never Podraced, had I?—and rage and anger and Padmé in a white lace dress taking my mechanical hand in hers—what?—pictures of myself with Padmé, holding and her and kissing her and—where was this coming from?—facing . . . myself as I stood atop the ramp of Padmé's starship—

A repetitive beeping sound cut through the sleepy fog in my mind, and I rolled over and groaned, brushing sleep out of my eyes, almost surprised to feel a beard under my hand, to discover that I was Obi-Wan Kenobi after all and not Anakin Skywalker. Still muzzy and half-caught in dreams, I struggled up to a sitting position. What had _that_ been about? A Podrace? _Kissing _Padmé? I had never felt like that about her. Had I been picking up on Anakin's thoughts and memories somehow?

I sighed and pushed the strange dreams from my mind as I looked up and glanced at the chronometer set into the data console across the room. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. Surely that time couldn't be correct—

It slowly dawned on me that correct it was, and that I had overslept by nearly four hours, based on the time I usually got up. I groaned again and dropped my head into my hands, running my fingers back through my hair.

_Wonderful, Kenobi. Sleeping late is _exactly_ the way to improve this situation. I'm sure it will deeply impress Commander Onasi, among others._

Well, there was no help for it now. I sighed and dragged myself out of the bed just as the shrill beep of the door came again, informing me that there was someone outside who requested my presence. I reached out with the Force and felt the clear, sharp mind of Healer Shian Risto.

Perfect. Just perfect. _She_ had to be one I greeted looking like I'd just rolled out of bed. Which, of course, I had. I pressed the button on the wall beside the door and her face appeared on the viewscreen. "General Kenobi?" she said. "I'm sorry to wake you—"

I covered a yawn with my hand. "It's nothing, Healer Risto. I was getting up anyway."

Her skepticism was written clearly across her face, but she refrained but commenting. "I was hoping to speak to you," she said instead. Her eyes were serious. I reached out to brush her sense with the Force and picked up a great deal of concern and anxiety, though nothing screamingly urgent, with a low undertone of impatient irritation. I winced, hoping I hadn't put that annoyance there, though it was more likely than not that I had.

"Give me just a moment," I said in reply, and cut off the communication.

Force. What a way to begin the morning.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" I asked about fifteen standard minutes later. If Healer Risto noticed that my hair was still wet from the 'fresher, she didn't say anything.

"Several things," she said. She didn't seem annoyed now, and I wondered if I had misread her. "I was going to check in on Senator Amidala—would you mind accompanying me?"

"Not at all." I fell into step beside her. "What things, exactly, Healer Risto?"

She sighed. "Well, for one, I'm afraid General Skywalker has taken a bit of a turn for the worse."

My heart froze intro solid ice at the same time my heart leapt up into my throat. "W-worse?" I stammered. My voice was hoarse and ragged, I realized, and wondered at the strength of my reaction. It felt as if my heart had stopped beating at her words.

She glanced at my face, then laid a comforting hand on my arm. "Hey, nothing like that, General Kenobi. Calm down. It's just that the shock he had yesterday—well, it's weakened him a little, that's all. And his back—falling off the bed wasn't the best thing he could have done for it, to say the least. I had to replace the bandages entirely. I'm afraid he's slipped back into unconsciousness for the time being, and, well, he's just a bit weaker than I'd like. I don't suppose you have any idea what set him off yesterday?"

"None," I said honestly.

She frowned. "And you _told_ him Senator Amidala was all right earlier?"

I nodded. "I don't quite understand it," I admitted, and heaved a sigh of frustration. I had spent most of yesterday afternoon turning that exact question over in my mind and come to no conclusions whatsoever. "It feels as if I'm missing something, but I have no idea what that might be."

Her frown deepened. "And you didn't say anything that might have set him off while you were with him earlier?"

I shook my head. "Nothing . . . ."

She bit her lip. "Do you think someone else might have . . . said something to him?"

I slowed my steps without even realizing what I was doing. "Like who?"

She gave an uncomfortable shrug. "I don't know. I didn't say a word, and the medical droids aren't equipped with vocabulators—" She looked away from me, her fingers tightening on the edge of the datapad she was carrying.

My mind immediately jumped to the fury that had burned in Onasi's blue eyes as he confronted me. _That man is a mass-murderer . . . a _monster

But no, how would Onasi have known that Padmé would have provoked such a reaction in Anakin? It didn't make sense. And it was an unworthy thought anyway. Simply because I didn't like the man didn't mean he was responsible for everything that went wrong around us. His point of view was as valid as mine, much as I hated to admit it.

"Was there anything else?" I added.

She turned a corner on the way to the unit where Padmé had been installed and I followed her. "I'm also concerned for Senator Amidala," she said. "She's very tired, and she doesn't seem to have much energy. She's very worried. It's not good for her, or for the babies."

"What can we do?" I asked quickly. "What can _I _do?"

Healer Risto gave me a tired smile and stopped in front of Padmé's door. "General Skywalker is her husband, isn't he?" she asked.

I hesitated. "I—Yes," I admitted after a minute. "He . . . loves her." I had known it for a long time, but admitting it like that, telling a near-stranger—it felt odd, and I felt alone and adrift. I no longer had to worry about Anakin's place in the Jedi, because we were the only Jedi left, no longer had to cover for him when he slipped up in his reckless longing to be with his wife again after a long mission.

Had it been a mistake, to cover for him like that, to let him continue on a path I knew was self-destructive, knew was against the Jedi Code? But I hadn't been able to turn them in, because it made them so happy, and after every mission Anakin looked a little older and a little less alive, and every time I saw Senator Amidala she looked a little more worn and a little more tired, but when they were together they were the radiant queen and the exuberant youth I had first known all over again and their happiness, their love, lit up the world around them. I supposed I would never know now if I had been right or wrong.

"And he is the father of the children," Shian prompted. I nodded, pulled back to the present by her words. She made a face. "Well, one thing's for certain. I don't envy you explaining this situation to the Jedi Council, _Master _Kenobi."

I know I flinched. She had not meant me any pain through her words, but they were like a lightsaber stabbed into the still-bleeding wound in my heart that was the loss of the other Jedi. I rubbed my hand wearily across my eyes, trying to hide my reaction from her. "What are you suggesting, Healer Risto?" I mumbled tiredly.

She shrugged. "She wants to see him. I suggest we let her."

I blinked at that. "I—are you sure she's strong enough?"

She sighed. "No. And my supervisor would have my head for even suggesting such a thing. But Sith, if he's going to put me on both trauma and obstetrics and overload me at the same time, the least he can do is deal with it when I do things my way. And I think it would be better for her to see him, rather than not."

I had had no idea that Shian had been working so hard. "I'm sorry," I said. "It's on our account that—"

She shook her head. "It has nothing to do with you, Master Kenobi. Well, not a whole lot, anyway." She gave a wry smile. "He just doesn't like me."

"Why not?" I asked. "You seem . . . well, you don't seem particularly unlikable."

She grinned. "You'd still say that even after I bullied you into letting me examine you?"

I hesitated, feeling a smile start to play at the edges of my lips. It was almost a foreign sensation after the last few days. "Well," I hedged. "On second thought . . . ."

She laughed, then sobered. "To be honest, it's because one, I'm younger, two, I'm female, and three, I was educated at the University of Aldera."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked blankly. One part of my mind added, _So she _is _Alderaanian._ I had thought her accent sounded familiar, but it was rather odd to encounter a Core-Trained Healer out here on the Outer Rim, Republic world or not. No one cared about Elanna, tactically, strategically, or politically.

She opened her mouth as if to respond, looked at me strangely, and then closed it again and turned to the door to key it open. "You know, Kenobi," she said as it slid open and she stepped inside. "For a Jedi, you aren't half bad."

I followed, once again utterly bemused by our conversation. She seemed to have a talent for doing that to me.

Padmé was lying in the bed with her eyes closed, but they fluttered open as we stepped inside. Shian was right. She didn't look well. Her eyes were hollow and bruised, and her skin pale, ashen. I swallowed hard. "Oh, Obi-Wan . . ." she said. Her voice was tired and breathy. "Shian. Good morning."

"Good morning, m'lady," Shian said. "How are you feeling?"

Padmé blinked, slowly, then started struggling to sit up. "Fine," she said. "I'm fine. How's . . . how's Anakin?"

"Would you like to see for yourself?" I asked, before I even really knew what I was saying. But seeing her like this, remembering Anakin's agony over her imagined death—

"S-see him?" she blinked, and again her face altered entirely, as if light had poured back into her eyes. "Is he well enough for that?"

"He's as well as can be expected, m'lady, and relatively stable," Shian replied. "It's not far. Do you feel up to it?"

Padmé sat up. "Of course," she said, that stubborn tone I knew so well in her voice. "Obi-Wan, help me."

I glanced at Shian, and when she nodded, I went to Padmé's side as she slid her legs off the side of the bed and practically lifted her to her feet. It took a bit more effort than I expected, and she smiled at my "oof" of effort. "Afraid I weigh a lot more than I used to," she said teasingly.

"Not at all, Senator," I said. "Light as an Aurean mist-flyer."

Her smile widened. "_You_," she said, "are a bad liar. Never go into politics, Master Kenobi."

"I have endeavored to avoid it," I answered, and steadied her as she took a step forward and her grip on my shoulder tightened. "Do you feel all right?"

Padmé was leaning heavily on me, but the look on her face was determined enough that I had no doubt she could have run the length of the Republic Arcade on Coruscant had she wanted to. "Never better," she declared.

Padmé was sweaty and tired and clinging to my shoulder by the time we reached Anakin's room, and I was feeling far too thankful that I was not a woman and would never have to go through this to be politically correct. Shian keyed open the door for us, and I helped her stumbled inside and over to the side of Anakin's bed. Padmé sank down onto the edge of the bed with a tired sigh.

"Ani?" she whispered, her voice soft and hesitant. She reached forward as if she were about to touch his face, hovering over the scar across his eye, right above the breath mask, but just before she made contact her fingers trembled. One hand fluttered up to touch her throat, and then she pulled her fingers back as if she had been burned, balling her hands together in her lap. For a moment, I sensed fear and an indecisiveness rare for Padmé overlaying with the steadiness of the love that rose inside her like a Kaminoan wave on a rough night. "Force," she murmured, and looked up at me. "O-Obi-Wan—"

I took a step forward, swallowing the denials, apologies, regrets, that raced for my mind, and laid a hand on her shoulder before I even knew what I was doing. "Don't give up, Padmé," I whispered. "It's all right. I—he does love you."

She took a deep breath, and smiled bravely up at me. "I know," she said.

"Master Obi-Wan?" The scratchy voice made me jump, and I wondered wildly what was wrong with me that I hadn't even noticed Master Yoda standing by Anakin's bedside until just now. I was even more tired and distracted than I'd thought. "Talk with you, I must," he said, and I sighed.

"Yes, Master," I said obediently, and squeezed Padmé's shoulder slightly. "He needs you," I told her, and followed Yoda out of the room.

"Brought Senator Amidala to see Vader you have, Obi-Wan?" Yoda asked as soon as we were outside, and I winced, all too well aware that he had referred to Anakin by that name specifically to call my attention to what I was doing.

"I thought it would be better if they were together, Master," I said. "Healer Risto agreed with me."

Yoda frowned. "A Jedi, Healer Risto is not, Master Kenobi. Allow feelings to sway decisions, a Jedi does not. Vader is dangerous."

"He . . . lost control yesterday at the mere _thought_ he might have killed her, Master," I said, finally able to keep my feelings to myself no longer. "She was worried about him! She is the one person—" I hesitated and trailed off, not certain how I wanted to finish that sentence.

Yoda tapped his cane against the floor. "Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"The one person he cares for more than anyone," I finished in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "If anyone can bring him back to us, she can."

Yoda peered up at me thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he said finally. "Perhaps. And perhaps, underestimate _yourself_ you do, Obi-Wan."

"What?" I stared at him. "Master—wh-what do you mean?"

"More you are to . . . Anakin than Master, Obi-Wan," Yoda said. Was it just me was his tone grudging and reluctant? "Friend, brother, father, you are. That, also, you should not discount."

He hobbled off in a different direction and left me standing there in the hallway without a clue how to respond to that, or even what to _think _in response to his words.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **

To QueenGoddess: Just happy you liked it! I was hoping to bring out both their closeness and messed-up-edness through that. I'm glad it worked. As for Yoda--let's just say he's not my favorite person either, the little green troll. Of course, he's _much_ better than Mace. The resident Zen Master is always a pain to write (which is pretty much why Yoda disappeared for five chapters--he was just . . . meditating. Yeah, that's it.). The Jedi do have that problem, don't they? If they hadn't been so blind, we might not even be having thisstoryin the first place. . . . But I can't just have him run into a mixer. That would be cheating, and the Rebellion is in enough trouble as it is. Tempting, though--very tempting. Maybe he'll just go off to commune with Qui-Gon some more. And I'm glad you like Shian! That's a load off my mind; an original character is always a bit difficult to bring off well. And I don't feel as if I can just ignore the EU (even though I'm doing pretty well ignoring the NJO as best I can). JA and JQ weren't my favorites, either, but .. . ah well. I liked bits, anyway, and continuity is good. Even in an AU. And I did show up at the Anakin thread--that thread is a dream come true, you don't even know . . . .

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Just be gentle! He's still recovering! Glad to prove your point. I hope to continue doing so for the forseeable future. Your reviews always put a smile on my face too!

To Mrs. A.Skywalker: Are you sure that link is working? Anyway, I'm so pleased you like it.

To Quill of Molliemon: Yeah, Ani's having some shielding issues, and Obi-Wan's getting the backlash--just more practice with those "certain points of view," I guess.

To Eruvyweth: Frazzlegambog, eh? Hey, I like that word. I think I'll use it from now on. Professor: "Now, what do you think about Japanese Buddhism?" Me: "Frazzlegambog." Uh--well, maybe not. Yeah, Obi-Wan finally gets some rest (simply gave into Healer Risto following him around and lecturing him until he did). And I could tell you where I'm going with it, of course. But then I'd have to kill you.

To MissNaye: Well, that just goes back to those "certain points of view," now doesn't it? Interpret things however you like.

To SomeoneElse'sDream: Wow. That makes me so happy! Still, I'll try not to make you wait so long for the next few updates (I'm inspired again).

To Princess-Aiel: I'm glad too. I felt funny having them apart from each other for so long in a story like this.

To KTfanfic: I agree completely, but I think Obi-Wan has that problem--he's always been too willing to discount himself. So glad you're enjoying!

To porcelainangel: Gripped from start to finish? Wow! I'm so pleased! And I did have just as much fun--I'm having a blast, you know. Writing Star Wars is like that.

To Alley Parker: Your wish is my command. Glad you liked it!

To Anakins Force: Yeah, Padme was definitely reaching the kicking and screaming stage. Quite a determined woman, she is, and she was going to see her Anakin. And Yoda is in the process of changing his mind about a lot of things. He's just having trouble admitting it. Silly Jedi. grumbles

To Fragile Dreams: I like reviews, even repetitive ones like Groundhog's Day! Liked your Kamino analogy by the way. And I'm working on it. I'm always working on it . . . .

Disclaimer: The Flanneled One thought of it first, so naturally he got all the cash. I'm not making any money off of this, which naturally means I'm broke. Why bother suing me?

Eleven

_The touch was oh-so-gentle against the ache that was his head and brought memories of light and love and happiness, of mornings on Naboo and the light and shimmer of an apartment on Coruscant, and fingers in his hair, arms that held him close, softness and love and beauty that surrounded him, accepted him, anchored him when he needed a focus, soothed him when he needed soothing. His mind tumbled back toward darkness and fire, but he pulled it away with a stubborn wrench. Those memories had no part of this._

_Her presence was as hypnotic as ever, drawing him like as if he were a magnet and she his lodestone, and Anakin was powerless against the allure of that sense in the Force. His eyelids felt like gravity-weights for lightsaber training, but with an effort he shoved them upwards. His eyes slowly focused on the gentle hand that rested on his cheek, stroked back through his hair. "Anakin," came her beloved voice, and his breath caught in his throat in a near-sob at the very sound of it. He'd so feared—how could he even have _lived_ if he had been cut off from that voice, forever? "Ani, can you hear me?"_

_He rolled his head back slightly until he could see her face. She looked pale, and tired, but she was there, she was _Padmé_, she was all right, and she was more beautiful than ever. His vision blurred and Anakin blinked the tears back impatiently, for they were hiding her from him. "Of . . . course . . . my love," he whispered, the breath mask twisting his words into a hoarse, unnaturally deep rasp. "A-always."_

_Her eyes widened, and her hand fluttered away from his face. Anakin moaned at the loss of contact. Without her touching him, her sense was so far away, dulled by the mindless fog in his head. Just seeing her wasn't enough. He wanted to feel her, too._

_Her gaze met his, and Anakin read fear in her gaze._

_He felt his heart stop, and then shatter, first into a few pieces, than into a thousand scattered across the landscape of his soul. "D-don't look at me like that, Padmé," he stammered, his words tripping up in his mouth and falling all over themselves as they fought to get past lips that didn't seem to want to respond. Dimly he wondered if when your heart stopped working the rest of you stopped eventually as well. "I—I would never—" memories rose to the surface, and he squeezed his eyes shut in denial of them, turning his face away because he didn't even deserve to _look_ at her. Hot tears stung his tightly shut eyelids. "I will never hurt you again. I—_swear_ it."_

"_H-how can I be sure of that?" Padmé whispered in return, and her voice was wet and thick and shaking with tears of her own. "How can I be sure of anything when you've done . . . those things?"_

_Anakin felt as if a dragonin his soul had roared to life again, cold and dead and afraid, and was ripping him in two. "N-no, Padmé," he gasped in desperation, raising his head and looking urgently up at her through eyes that swam with new tears at her words. "I'd—I'll never hurt you. _Never_. I just want—I can't lose you, Padmé. N-not . . . you. Not now. Please . . . ."_

_She held her hand to her mouth as if to somehow hold in the tears streaming slowly down her face, and looked away from him. "Anakin—oh, Anakin, what's happened to you? Where's the Anakin I know? The Anakin I love?"_

"_Right here!" Anakin's voice was raw and shaking with emotion, with desperation, and he nearly screamed the words. "I'm right . . . _here_, Padmé!" Oh, Force, don't let me lose her—please don't let me have lost her—oh, Force, if I've lost her I—I _can't_ lose her, I _can't_—_

_The outburst was too much for him again, and the breath mask snatched the rest of his words away. He sobbed with frustration, fighting the machine as it tried to force him to breathe the way it wanted him to instead of the way he wanted._

_Padmé's hands settled on his face on either side of the breath mask, bracing him, holding him still and steady. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Ani. I'm . . . I'm frightened."_

_He struggled to relax until he could breathe again. "I . . . I'm . . . the one . . . sorry . . . ."_

_Her gentle fingers rubbed against the skin above the mask that cut her off from him. "Shhh. It's all right. Really."_

_He closed his eyes for a moment and lived in the touch of her fingers against his face. "Sorry . . ." he mumbled._

"_I know," she whispered. "I know."_

_He forced his eyes open again. "A-are you . . . all right?" The words were slurred and indistinct, but he struggled to make them understandable with all he had._

"_Fine." Padmé leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek, across the line where the breath mask pressed into his skin. "I'm fine." She smiled shakily and laid one hand against the top of her stomach. "Everything's just fine."_

_Anakin choked on his faltering breath of relief, the tears burning in his eyes all over again. He struggled to lift his good arm, but it was held down and imprisoned by the tubes and cords running into it, his wrist shackled to the bed by a gentle magnetic field. He let out a soft curse in Huttese that was lost in the hoarse echo of the breath mask._

_Padmé's hand closed over his, her fingers intertwining with his, and his hand closed convulsively around hers. "Help—" the word choked and grated in his throat, and he winced at the sound of his voice, wheezing and hollow. "Help me . . . take this mask . . . off . . . ."_

_She hesitated, and indecision twisted her features. "Ani—you—I can't. It might—hurt you. You have to breathe."_

_His lips twitched up into a weak, faltering smile, the ghost of his old lopsided grin. "I'm . . . all right. I . . . don' need that thing."_

"_Are you sure?" Her fingers ran reassuringly over his._

"_I—c-can't breathe wi'out you . . . touching me, anyway." It was nothing less than the truth, with her this close and yet so far away in the Force._

_Padmé still looked reluctant, but she ran her fingers along the straps that held the mask in place and unfastened them nonetheless, bringing away the cool hard plastic that had formed an unnatural barrier between them and setting it aside. Anakin's breathe caught in his throat without it, aching as he dragged it out of a raw throat, but he didn't care. Her fingers skimmed over his cheeks, his mouth, his nose, and she bent to whisper, "Are you sure you're all right?"_

_Anakin's answer was to push himself recklessly upward, his hand clenching around hers against the bed, until his lips met hers. As soon as they touched he felt as if he _could _breathe again, as if his heart returned to its proper place in his chest, as if color and life and sight flooded back into him, because he could feel Padmé again the way he should feel her, the way he'd always felt her, even in the years they'd spent apart from each other. Her lips were soft and warm and giving against his, and even though the contact hurt a mouth that was still cracked and burned and barely healing, he would have suffered that pain a thousand times over just for one moment like this. Padmé caught him and her hands twisted in his hair, her fingers smoothing through it to rest on the back of his head._

_Anakin sighed and let his head drop to rest against her collarbone. She was warm and slightly sweaty and he never wanted to move ever again and finally he could breathe right._

"_Don't . . . leave . . . me," he whispered, knowing he was pleading, knowing that a Sith Lord didn't beg like that and not caring._

_She bent her head to rest it against his. "I won't, Ani. I'm here." She blew out a trembling breath and held him a little closer. " I'm here."_

I doubted Healer Risto's intention had been to rope me into a planning session with Yoda and Commander Onasi, but, unfortunately, by convincing me to bring Padmé to see Anakin that was exactly what she had inadvertently done. With her there to keep an eye on the two of them, there was no excuse I could make that would allow me to duck out of the presence of either of the other two, and I was all too well aware that I shouldn't be avoiding them anyway. With the fall of the Republic and the destruction of the Jedi a war had begun, and we were all on the front lines.

And wars required planning. Strategy. It was something I could no longer put off. My personal feelings had no place in the matter. As always.

"Found time in your busy schedule to join us, _General _Kenobi?" Onasi asked as soon as I set foot in the room, his voice cold and sneering. I ignored him as best I could and focused my attention on Yoda.

"You requested my presence, Master?"

The ancient Jedi Master nodded. "Requested it I did, Master Obi-Wan. A . . . discussion we must have."

I nodded in unhappy agreement as I took up a position braced against the wall. "I agree. We have much to confer over."

Onasi wanted to say something, I could tell, but he refrained. For which fact I was profoundly grateful.

There was a slight pause, before Yoda sighed and spoke again. His voice was weary and older than I'd ever heard it. "Some danger there is, that to this place Sidious could track his apprentice."

Onasi sat bolt upright in his chair at that. "Sidious—you mean, the Emperor? Chancellor Palpatine?"

"That is exactly who we mean," I replied, my voice shorter than I had meant it to be. _How many people with names like "Sidious" do you think are running around the galaxy?_ The thought was unfair of me, and I knew it, but I just couldn't seem to help myself where Onasi was concerned. It was as if I became a Padawan all over again in his presence, and a rather immature one at that.

I suddenly realized how Anakin must have felt about Ferus.

"A bond, master and apprentice share," Yoda continued, "whether Sith or Jedi. Strong emotions, pain, fear . . . all these things, reach Sidious they might. And when they do . . . strong enough with the Force to trace us here he could be. I do not know. The dark side . . . a cloud it is, over all my meditations."

"A bond?" Onasi repeated, and there was a strange excitement in his voice. I looked at him—he fairly crackled with repressed energy. An unnatural fire burned in his eyes, and for a moment I was reminded of how Anakin had looked facing me above the river of lava on Mustafar. The thought was still painful, and I pushed it away, focusing resolutely on the cold, unfeeling concerns of strategy and tactics. Such preoccupations could not heal the wounds, but they could dull the ache, salve the tearing pain with numb detachment.

"We cannot stay here much longer," I reflected out loud. "No matter how isolated Elanna may be. We cannot take the risk."

Yoda nodded, but Onasi was still staring at the ancient Jedi master as if I hadn't even spoken, and a spark of annoyance lit inside me. Who was he to not even _listen_ to what I was saying? I did outrank him, after all, no matter how he felt about Jedi.

"What kind of bond?" he repeated, and a frisson of disquiet ran along my spine at the eagerness in his voice. "Palpatine can feel—Vader—through the Force? Through his emotions?"

"Yes," Yoda said cautiously, and he sounded as wary as I suddenly felt. "A danger, it could be."

"A danger?" Onasi actually laughed. "Well, yes, I suppose so. If it's handled badly. But don't you see? This is exactly the weapon we need to end this war, here and now!"

I shifted uncomfortably. "A . . . weapon? Commander Onasi, I am unclear as to exactly—"

"This is practically a gift," he continued. "It plays perfectly into our hands. Vader is here, now, entirely in our power thanks to General Kenobi—" _oh, so now I did the right thing,_ I thought, the sarcasm bitter and unpalatable, "—and we are in the tactically stronger position. We have the perfect bait—we can lure Palpatine here and defeat him and cut off the head of this Imperial monster before he can do any more damage. After the great evil is gone, it will be a simple matter to reclaim the Republic from this . . . _Empire_ . . . he's constructed."

I doubted anything was ever as easy as he was making that sound, but his earlier words made me too uneasy to even remark on that. "Perfect bait?" I repeated. "What . . . bait—" the very word left a sour taste in my mouth "—were you intending to use, precisely?"

He looked at me as if I were a slightly simple child he was trying to lead to the correct conclusion to an uncomplicated mathematical equation. "Vader, of course," he said. "What other use is the boy? He is our enemy, Kenobi. Don't forget that. If his emotions can be twisted to suit the purposes of the Republic, there is no question at all as to what we should do. And he is so very _easy _to manipulate, surely you see that."

What I saw was the red haze of rage that had risen up in front of my eyes in response to his words. I hadn't felt like this since I had watched Darth Maul cut down my master while I stood helplessly by. My hands clenched into fists and unclenched again as I struggled to regain control over my emotions, but I feared I wasn't having much success. "Do I understand that you mean to—to _use_ Anakin like some kind of—_homing beacon_ to lure Sidious here?"

Onasi looked as if I had grasped a difficult concept sooner than he had expected. "Yes," he said. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

The red haze turned to hot, angry crimson. "If you lay one hand on him—" I started, barely even aware that my voice was spiraling up several decibels and my hand had gone instinctively to the lightsaber at my belt.

"Master Obi-Wan!" Yoda's sharp command cut through my rage like a vibroblade through durasteel. "Help us, this will not. In control of your emotions you must be. Remember what was Anakin's downfall, you must."

I took a deep breath, shivering as the anger that had filled me drained away. "Yes, Master," I replied shakily.

"Commander Onasi," Yoda continued. "Use this plan, we will not. A tool, young Skywalker is not. Lost, alone, in pain, he is. Need this, he does not. Leave this place soon we must. Not the place for a rebellion, this is."

"Master Yoda," Onasi began.

"We will not!" Yoda said, and there was such presence in his gravelly voice that it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Onasi fell silent and got to his feet without a word.

But I could see the hunger in his eyes, and I knew that he had not abandoned his plan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Finally! Sorry it took so long, real life kept butting in. But another update is here!

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Hmm. That might work. We all know Anakin and his guilt trips . . . though Obi likes them too. Onasi hanging on a window ledge minus a few limbs . . . there's an idea . . . .

To Eruvyweth: The Author? --looks wildly around-- You mean--_me?_ All kidding aside, I'm actually glad Onasi is creeping you out . . . that means he isn't a failure as a baddie. Hee hee! And as for Ani . . . the pace is slow but sure. And Palpy--evil grin Let's just say he may soon be learning a basic Jedi lesson--"always in motion is the future."

To Quill of Molliemon: They are rather like oil and water. I wanted to get across the feeling you get when you know you can't possibly have formed a real opinion about someone yet, you _just don't like them_. Talk about incompatible personalities! But we still have Ani and Padme . . . ahhh. I loved finally writing that.

To Anakins Force: And I love the Vader thread! And yes, Onasi--well, let's just say that Obi-Wan wouldn't mind Onasi meeting up with the end of his lightsaber either. Purely by accident, of course. Anakin needs a new arm and a leg--just so he can do stuff! Arrgh! "Action Anakin," forced to lie on a bed and think? Not good!

To KTfanfic: Umm, yeah, Onasi has problems. He didn't get the memo--"only a Sith deals in absolutes." Glad you liked the Anakin/Padme scene--I enjoyed writing it--and I hope you continue to enjoy.

To MissNaye: I didn't think it was half bad myself. Ruthless, yes, but would it have worked? Also yes. Now, you'll just have to see what happens . . . .

To Fragile Dreams: I love your long reviews--please don't stop. Yay! I'm glad the Ani/Padme lived up to your expectations. I'm actually glad you started out liking Onasi. I didn't want him to be completely black or white, though he's leaning toward the baddie side of things of course. His main problem is a surfeit of self-righteousness, I think, and a difficulty seeing the color gray. I'm so glad you like Explosive!Obi-Wan. I thought he deserved some vehemence by this point.

To Obi-Wan Skywalker: Glad you like it so much! Interesting name . . . .

To Alley Parker: He is, isn't he? Of course, if he wasn't, that wouldn't be as much fun (for me at least). It's a good thing Ani and Obi can't see what I write here, or else I'd have one PO'd Sith Lord and Jedi Master to deal with . . . .

To Mrs. A.Skywalker: Hah hah! Success with linkage! And no, Anakin's face isn't burnt, just a little--sensitive from such close proximity to heat. He's just missing a leg and a rather badly damaged mechanical hand, and only his back and the back side of his missing arm were badly burned. His lungs are still recovering from breathing super-heated air, however. Hope that makes sense . . . . I'll try and work an overview of Ani's physical condition into the next chapter.

To Princess-Aiel: That's certainly how Obi-Wan feels. So glad you thought it was beautiful . . .

To Queengoddess: Well, even the little green troll gets a character arc. Who knew? And Mace--I'm so glad he's dead already in this fic. If he weren't, I'd kill him all over again. Gah is exactly right. I'm glad you liked Padme and Anakin so much! And I'm even more glad you liked my imagery/parallel thingy. (You aren't the only one who's glad there's no kissing in the original--gack!) Hee hee!

To Hieiko: He's getting on mine, too, and I made him up. Grrrr . . . Onasi, Carth is very ashamed of you.

Disclaimer: The Flanneled One owns all. I own nothing and I make no money. Pretty much.

Twelve

"I'd like a word with you." I deliberately let a moment pass before I added the word, "Commander."

Onasi turned around at the door, his shoulders straightening subtly into that ramrod-straight military posture he had shown when we first met. "Kenobi?" he asked stiffly. His voice was cold, rimed with frost. I ignored the warning in his tone. If Onasi thought he could intimidate a Jedi Master and General of the Clone Wars, he needed to be educated in a few home truths about Jedi.

I locked eyes with him and gave him a level stare. "I suppose there are many ways of saying this, Commander Onasi, but I think I'll go with the simplest this time. I don't trust you."

If anything, his posture grew straighter and his eyes colder. "That's odd, General Kenobi," he replied. "I could say the same thing about you."

He_ doesn't trust _me_? Who's the only living Jedi who can honestly say he's faced three Dark Lords of the Sith and defeated two? Who defeated General Grievous? Who—calm down, Kenobi. Take a deep breath. This isn't helping._ I crossed my arms over my chest. "Then we understand each other."

He braced his feet against the floor as if settling into a fighting stance. "I think we do. _Master Jedi_." His words were sneering, scornful.

If he thought his scorn could hurt me he truly did not understand what I had faced over the years. "Then you understand what I will do to you if you destroy Anakin in this . . . quest of yours." I didn't know what else to call the fiery compulsion I had seen in his eyes as he spoke of luring Sidious and putting an end to the Empire.

It was a threat, I don't deny that, and not particularly well done of me. I just didn't know what else to try.

Onasi's eyes flashed at that, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "_Anakin_ has already _been_ destroyed, Kenobi. There is nothing left of him in that murderer, nothing! I don't understand how you, of all people, can be so blind. He destroyed your very life, everything you've fought for, and still you defend him? What is wrong with you? What evil casts a shroud over your eyes to cloud your vision? What fog obscures your judgment? The boy is lost!"

"He is _not lost_!" It was the first time I had said those words since his fall, and they burst out of me before I even really had time to examine them. But as I said them I realized how firmly I believed them, how I _had_ to believe them. That hope alone had kept me moving the last few days when all I wanted was to curl in on myself and sob until the huge rift that had torn my heart in two scabbed over, until I no longer felt my soul's blood ebbing slowly away into the dark and echoing chasm that had once held the presence of the other Jedi. That hope, fragile and insubstantial as it was, was all I had left to cling to. For if I failed here, if I failed now, then Anakin was truly lost. I had truly failed. And the Empire had already won. At least for me.

"Jealous tears do not redeem him, Kenobi!" Onasi's cheeks had mottled red with passion. "The boy has been flawed from the start. Let go! I thought the Jedi preached the danger of attachments. Can't you see how attached you are to this _Skywalker_? Can't you see how your refusal to admit his fall endangers us all?"

"I do not deny his fall." My voice was calm and cool in contrast to his raging intensity, but inside I trembled with rage and emotion that I struggled in vain to bring under my control. My once-vaunted restraint was fraying now as I reached the edge of my reserves. I was tired and shaking, empty inside, my emotions rubbed raw and bleeding, by entire body bruised and cut and one massive ache. I simply didn't have anything left to call on. "I—Force." My voice cracked and threatened to break. I relaxed my stance and rubbed at my aching forehead, just too tired for this any longer. "I haven't given up hope."

Onasi's eyes were bleak and as empty as the vastness of space. "I suppose that is where we differ, Master Kenobi. You see, I have."

I sighed and felt the weariness seeping through me again. "I am sorry for that, Commander Onasi. But don't you see that is exactly what the Emperor wants?"

Onasi's face was as unyielding as the mountain carvings on Duro. "I see you playing into the Emperor's hands, Kenobi, not me. Skywalker—Vader—is a war criminal. He deserves to be condemned, not coddled, executed, not excused."

"And where will that get us?" I nearly screamed. "How will that bring back the Jedi? How will that defeat the Sith?"

"I don't know anything about the Sith," Onasi said. "And I don't care much about the Jedi. But I care—" he took a deep, shaking breath "—cared for the Republic. And I _will_ destroy the Empire."

"The Empire is the Sith!" I snapped. "They are one and the same. How do you hope to defeat the Emperor without the Jedi?"

"I'm starting to think I'd have a better chance alone than with a Jedi by my side," Onasi bit back. "Good luck with _Vader_, Kenobi. When he chokes you to death, remember what I said, will you?"

My hand was suddenly on my lightsaber, with no memory of how it had come to be there. "Promise me you will not go after Anakin to carry out this plan of yours," I demanded.

Onasi's eyes flicked to the weapon in my hand, but his lips just twisted into a bitter parody of a smile. "Will you kill me if I don't agree, Kenobi?" he asked.

"I'm sure you can find the answer to that yourself," I answered. "I am a Jedi, after all."

He gave a harsh laugh. "The Jedi are all dead, Kenobi."

"I'm not," I replied softly.

It wasn't I who looked away first.

Healer Risto caught me on my way back to Anakin's room. "All you all right, Master Kenobi?" she asked softly.

I lifted my eyes tiredly. "Please," I said. "Call me Obi-Wan." I just wanted to hear someone say my name, not "Master Kenobi," not "General." I didn't feel like much of either a master or a general at the moment. I just . . . wanted to be me, around _someone_.

She looked down at the floor. "Obi-Wan," she said quickly. "Are you all right?"

I sighed, giving her a small grin of thanks. It was impossible for her to know how much that small concession lifted my spirits, when I felt like I'd been caught in a free-fall ever since Utapau. "I'm fine, Healer Risto. Thank you. How's Padmé?"

She smiled a little. "Better, I think. She's resting now, in her own room. I let her stay until the drugs brought Skywalker under again. I think the visit may have helped both of them."

I felt a true smile begin to curve my lips. "Well—good. That's—that's good news. How's Anakin?"

She shrugged, a tired motion that seemed to encompass both all and nothing. "I'm not sure. I've never really had a case like his. He seems so . . . drained."

"Drained?" I repeated, wondering at her use of the word. Anakin hadn't seem drained to me. Hurt, confused, in pain, yes. But he had tossed me against a wall with the Force. More than once. Was that drained?

"Yes." She bit her lip. "I had a question to ask you, anyway, Maste—Obi-Wan." She grinned ruefully. "I'll have to get used to that. Well . . . when was the last time Anakin slept, that you know of?"

I blinked. "Slept?" Force, I sounded like a Rishii, repeating her every word.

"Or ate," she added. Her eyes were serious and earnest.

"Yesterday, I suppose," I said blankly. "Why?"

"His condition reminds me of yours," she said with a sigh. "He's been so worn down by exhaustion and hunger I'm surprised he was still thinking straight. Well . . ." she gave a sad laugh. "I suppose he wasn't. I've had him sleeping and the IVs are bringing him essential fluids and nutrients, so he's balancing, but—" She stole a glance at my stricken face and let her voice trail off.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized how devious, how ruthless Sidious was. Every fiber of my soul ached for Anakin as I got a picture of how the days since I'd left Coruscant must have been for my friend—pulled a thousand directions at once, trapped, torn, not _sleeping_, not _eating_. "Force," I choked. I couldn't help the thought, treacherous though it was . . . no wonder he had fallen.

What had we done to him?

"Can I see him?" I asked helplessly. "I won't wake him, I promise, I just—"

She gazed at me for one long moment, then reached up and laid a hand on my cheek. I flinched at her touch, surprised, and she smiled, her lips quirking in a wry, lopsided sort of grin. Her hand was warm against my skin, and I realized how much I'd needed some sort of human contact at that moment. I hadn't even been aware of it until she'd touched me. "Of course, M—Obi-Wan," she said. "Come with me."

She turned away, and she was all business-like medic again. I followed her, still bemused, as she led me to Anakin's room and keyed open the door. "Go ahead," she said, and gestured into the room.

I stepped gingerly inside and walked over to stare down at Anakin on the bed. I felt as if I were seeing him for the first time since I'd left him on Coruscant—the slightly more angular planes of his cheekbones where his face nestled against the pillow, the tautness of the skin around his eyes, over his bones, the lines of pain etched deep around his mouth under the breath mask, the shadowed bruises in the hollows under his eyes. He looked like an old man, broken, used up, and at the same time like a fragile, vulnerable child.

I knelt down and tentatively reached out to touch his cheek, running the backs of my fingers over his too-hot, feverish skin, and I could feel the burning behind my eyes start to prickle, the lump in my throat intensify until the tears were slipping down my cheeks and I could barely see through the wet blur over my vision. "I'm sorry, Anakin," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't an apology just for the last week, the last few days, the hell of Mustafar. It was an apology for Tatooine, and the Jedi Council who had used but never trusted him, and his mother, and Padmé, and the last fifteen years of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **See? Quick updates! The Force is with me!

To adame shmi skywalker vader: Happy you liked it:) Yay! RotS on DVD! Poor Ani, indeed. Poor Obi. Poor Padme. And as for the Healer and Obi . . . that depends on what you guys think, I guess. I haven't decided one way or the other. To quite honest, their . . . chemistry, as it were, quite surprised me.

To Quill of Molliemon: Again, I couldn't agree more. Poor Obi. Poor Ani. And Happy Birthday!

To Go For It: So I'm forgiven? Phew. That's awfully nice of you! ;) It sounds bad, but I'm so glad I was able to make you cry--that means I'm accomplishing something of what I wanted to. I'm . . . so . . . happy . . . that you're enjoying it so much. Please keep reviewing! Knowing you like it and what you like means so much to me!

To Hieiko: I'd like to say I can take credit for the idea . . . but I can't. It belongs to Matthew Stover and the RotS novelization . . . but I can run with it!

To Princess-Aiel: So glad you liked it! Here I am, going on!

To MissNaye: Indeed, indeed. And Obi-Wan is keeping one eye out . . . .

To VA-Parky: Wow! A new reviwer! I'm so happy! Glad you enjoyed it so much. And the emotions are rather like a roller-coaster, aren't they? That's what I feel like writing it, anyway.

To The Struggling Artist: The ultimate goal of a fanfic writer--to keep the characters in character. So glad you think I'm succeeding!

To Eruvyweth: Ah, yes, how the future is moving, the question even Yoda wouldn't answer. But, look--another update!

To forceflow46: Yeah. He does. I can't get around that one. As for the cloning . . . maybe it just doesn't work. I mean, I'm not really up on the technology, but it seems as if it would be a rather uncertain procedure. I can see it working with internal organs, I suppose, but limbs? I just don't know. And it would probably take quite a long time for a procedure that uncertain. Still, I don't know.

To Sati James: Yay! Have updated!

To Obi-Wan Skywalker: Thrilled you're liking it.

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Yes, yes he does. Please feel free. Maybe that'll put him back in line! And I agree. Poor Obi. Sorry about the huge gaps. Sociology papers do that to fanfic. But at least the gap wasn't so huge this time!

To Alley Parker: I'm glad you thought so. I was going for that mixture of emotions.

Disclaimer: Yada yada yada. Lucas and his minions rox my sox. I own nothing. Yep. Pretty much. Except I do own the RotS DVD.

Thirteen

"_You still seem . . . distracted, Obi-Wan."_

_That deep voice brought my head up with a start. "Master?" The word was still an automatic response to the sound of that voice, even after all these years._

_My eyes fell on Qui-Gon Jinn sitting on Anakin's bed right across from the chair I had taken to keep an eye on the injured man. My master's lips twitched upward into a small smile. "Don't look so surprised, my apprentice," he said gently. "Convinced yourself that I was a figment of your imagination, then, did you?"_

_I grinned ruefully. "I have to admit it. But—ah—aren't you?"_

_The smile widened. "Not at all. Do I think I'd leave you and Yoda to struggle through things on your own?" He shook his head. "And I thought you knew me, Obi-Wan."_

"_Then—" I felt like an apprentice all over again, befuddled by some cryptic direction of my master's I couldn't seem to understand no matter how hard I analyzed it. It had taken me so long to realize it that struggling so hard to analyze Qui-Gon's directions was often half my problem. "I—I'm afraid I don't understand, Master."_

"_I have become one with the Force, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said. He shrugged. "Yet my will was such that I managed to retain my identity." He shook his head. "But now is not the time for metaphysics. I urge you to seek out Yoda if you are inclined to discuss things of that nature further." His face turned grave. "You are troubled, Obi-Wan. Hurting."_

_His words sent a tremor through me, as if they threatened to destroy the wall I had struggled to place around my emotions, as if they were a lever that when thrown would open the dam and allow the floodwaters to burst through._

_But I couldn't allow that. I had to be strong. Now was not the time for my personal heartbreak, no matter how profound._

_I couldn't look him in the eyes, even when they were insubstantial and glowed slightly. "I . . . failed, Master," I said softly._

_He made a sound of disgust. "Apprentice, enough. You made mistakes. You weren't the only one. Yoda, too, Master Windu—all the Jedi. Anakin. Padmé. All of you made mistakes. Self-reflection is helpful, yes, but torturing yourself over this is pointless."_

"_But I made so _many_ mistakes," I burst out. "How could I have been so blind? You were right all along—I failed to listen to the Living Force, and now we are all paying for it."_

"_Oh, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was affectionate and gentle, though slightly chiding. "Would you take so much blame upon yourself? Yes, part of the fault was yours. But more, surely rests on Palpatine himself, who manipulated us all for so long, the Senators who went along with him, Master Windu, and even Master Yoda. And the great amount of the fault rests upon Anakin. He _chose _to fall, apprentice. You did not make him. Not even Palpatine forced his hand. It was his fingers upon the lightsaber." He sighed. "I realize that this doesn't help much. Apportioning blame is never a useful exercise. Just know that I do not thing you have the most to bear in this instance."_

The sound of stirring on the bed woke me, and I lifted my head and blinked sleep out of my eyes, only realizing as I awakened that I had fallen asleep sitting up. I blinked, expecting to see Qui-Gon's glowing form seated on the bed in front of me, but the room was empty except for Anakin, a diligent medical droid keeping track of his vital signs on the monitor, and myself. I ran one hand over my face, trying to pull myself back to coherence with pure strength of will.

"O-Obi-Wan?" That hoarse, raw voice was Anakin's, and I focused on his still form with a jolt. He had turned his head to seek my gaze, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and sleepy and I already knew that turning his head was pretty much the most movement he could manage at the moment.

"Yes?" I said quickly. "I'm here, Anakin."

He blinked, and it seemed to take an incredibly long time for his lashes to settle against his cheeks and lift up again. His breath rasped, wheezing under the amplification of the breath mask. "W-why?" he mumbled. "Why . . . you . . ." another deep breath ". . . bother?" he finished, his words little more than a breathy wisp of sound.

I understood his meaning immediately, but—Force, how could I answer that? How could I have left him to burn on Mustafar? How could I not?

"Because . . . I . . . care, Anakin," I finally whispered helplessly.

He laughed at that, a painful, bitter sort of sound that twisted into a cough. "Right . . . Master." His voice was hard with aching sarcasm. He blinked again, and his shoulders shook as the breather inhaled and exhaled for him. "You . . . should . . . than' . . . me, then, O-Obi-Wan." His voice cracked and broke on my name like that of the adolescent he'd been only a few years ago. It might as well have been a lifetime. "'The . . . sh-shadow of . . . greed, attachmen' . . . is,'" he rasped mockingly. "Now . . . you don' have to worry . . . 'bout bein' a bad Jedi. No' attached t' me anymore . . . ."

His words were unadulterated agony, and it hurt me somewhere deep inside to hear Anakin repeating what was unmistakably Yoda's advice like that. His voice was dark, bitter, but it sounded so very fragile at the same time.

He was still looking straight at me, his topaz-yellow eyes red-rimmed and tired. "You . . . should've . . . left me . . . M-master," he whispered.

"No!" The word was torn out of my throat with a wrench of pure pain. "No, Anakin, don't say that."

He closed his eyes as if immeasurably weary. "I . . . thin' it's too late . . . for me . . . Ob'wan. Won' . . . le' me go . . . now." He was slurring his words together more and more the longer he talked, and I knew it was difficult for him.

"No, Anakin," I replied, leaving my chair to sit closer, on the edge of the bed. I reached out and took his shoulders firmly in my hands, careful of his still-healing burns. "No. I have abandoned you far too many times already. I should have stood up for you with the Council when I knew what they were asking you to do was wrong. I should have refused to leave you and go to Utapau. But—but I didn't. I failed you then, Anakin. I failed you when I failed to realize what was happening to your mother. I failed you when I didn't help you resolve the situation with Padmé. I'm not going to fail you again."

He looked up at me through the shield of his lashes. His eyes were heavy, only slightly open, but I thought I could see flashes of the clear, transcendent blue Anakin's eyes should have been in them, and it quickened my battered heart, gave me a breath of hope. "Help me, Obi-Wan," he whispered brokenly. "Pr-promise me—" he couldn't finish the sentence and broke off with a low, frustrated moan.

"What?" I asked. "What, Anakin?"

"Promise . . . you won' let Padmé . . . die," he managed hoarsely, face twisted with impatience at his own stumbling tongue. I could feel his desperation, low and urgent, beneath the blanket of drugs dulling his sense in the Force. "If I—no matter wha'—please. Pr'mise me."

I was baffled by the request. Why would it be this fear that ran so deep in him? Did his horror at his actions run so deep? I didn't understand. But I could no more refuse his plea than turn off the Force around me. "I promise," I said. "I promise. I will take care of her."

Anakin's eyes closed, and I could feel his muscles relax under my fingers. "Don' . . ." he started, voice barely audible. "I . . . ." But then he was unconscious again, his sense in the Force quiet and his body so still and limp it was nearly lifeless but for the warmth of his skin beneath my hands and the suck-hiss of the breath mask.

"_Your Majesty." The clone trooper stood at attention just inside the office._

"_Yes?" Sidious snapped, resenting his attention being brought away from the latest report of the pacification of rebellious Senators. "What is it?"_

"_We've narrowed the terms of the search you gave us," the soldier said, his computer-modulated voice stiff with a nervousness his formality and training did little to conceal. "We've come up with a number of planets that match your criteria."_

_Sudden dark excitement coursed through the ruler of the the Empire. Results, at last! One step closer to reclaiming his wayward apprentice. He knew very well he couldn't allow much more time to elapse before taking Vader back if he didn't want to lose him, and the bizarre ending to their last communion had . . . not unsettled, him, no. Provided much to meditate upon. "Give it to me," he demanded, gesturing at the datapad the clone trooper held._

"_Yes, Your Imperial Majesty." The trooper stepped forward and obediently handed him the datapad. Sidious scanned the list of names, looking for any that stirred a feeling in the Force, any recognition whatsoever._

_His eyes fell on a nondescript, three-syllable name halfway down the list, and he felt a stirring in the Force, a calling, a beacon even Jinn's spirit could not hide. "Elanna," he said. "They're on Elanna." He looked up at the clone, a cold smile even now curving his lips. "Ready my ship, Commander."_

"_Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."_

"_And send the Lord Speaker to me," Sidious added. The clone nodded and exited._

_There was much to be arranged if he was to go after Vader._

_Sidious rose from his desk and turned to stare out the window of his office. The lights of Coruscant, still with dark spots as the planet from the cataclysmic battle of a week or so ago, met his eyes. And yet he did not see people, or traffic, or homes. Instead he saw opportunities, eddies and ripples in the constant currents of power, all feeding to him now, flowing into this office. Into him. The single Sith who had finally claimed dominion over the galaxy._

_But Sidious was not foolish. He knew that he needed the Sith'ari on his side, if the prophesied one had indeed appeared. And he had little doubt that Skywalker was that one. The Jedi saw it, too, though with their skewed version of the prophecy they had failed to recognize his true potential. Fools, then and always. _

_Well . . . not _needed_ him, perhaps. But if Skywalker—Vader—escaped his control now—even with the thought alone Sidious could see his perfectly controlled plans unraveling, the thousands of threads escaping his grasp._

_It would not be allowed to happen. Vader would not be allowed to falter. He was a Dark Lord of the Sith now, Sidious's hand, the perfect extension of his will, the heir to a galaxy swathed in the dark brilliance of the Sith's power._

_The appearance of Jinn's spirit was a surprise, but it was not one beyond his ability to twist it to his advantage. Just as it had been with Kenobi's unexpected appearance._

_Sidious surveyed the lights before him, and his smile widened._


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes: **This chapter was a bit of a challenge. Hmmm. Hope you enjoy. I'm pleased with it, at any rate.

To VA-Parky: Oooh, that makes me so happy! And thanks for revieweing on TFN! Reviews just make my day that much better. And with the raw emotions, I'm so glad to hear that, because that's what this story's all about, after all. Sorry this update wasn't quite so fast. Ah well.

To MissNaye:So it is, so it is.

To Queengoddess: He is, isn't he? The more practice I get writing him, the more I enjoy it . . . he's so EEEVIL. And very brilliant. Ah, Qui-Gon--the more I write him, the more I love him. If I don't stop writing, I'll love everyone! (the path to world peace?) Poor Obi indeed. I feel bad for him, and I'm the one writing him . . . ah, Ani. Yeah, the burns represent a significant impediment. But there's some improvement in the next chapter in that department. And of course he kissed Padme! You didn't expect him to just sit there! This is _Anakin_, after all.

To Eruvyweth: Yeah. Undesirable company indeed. A creepy old man in a dress--shudders--Ah, and sorry about your update problem. I guess this story is just that persistent, lol. Hey, a lot more e-mail!

To Go For It: The Frying Pan of Doom! And yeah, Jedi do the mistakes thing, don't they . . . especially Obi. Poor Obi . . . And wow, what a great compliment. I thank you. Maybe a Jedi mind trick? "Reading this story is the most important thing in your life . . . ."

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Oh Force, I made you cry? Is it wrong to be so happy about that? Ah yes, the curse of real life. And go for it! Onasi'll need anothe round after this chapter, though.

To Quill of Molliemon: Yeah, Obi-Wan's working on the sleeping thing. And the last thing we want is an Obi convinced he's going round the twist. And poor Anakin . . . poor, poor Anakin . . . . I'd better stop or I'll start to cry again (just watched RotS . . . .) Hmmm. I think a stake through the heart might work.

Hieiko: Exactly--that way you don't have to get too close--although it does make your Jedi Master look rather askance at you. Or your sharp-tongued Jedi friend and dashing pilot buddy (in KotoR, anyway . . . .).

To Rieyeuxs: Wow. Just . . . wow. I'm so glad I was able to be responsible for such a thing (if that makes sense). I hope you continue to enjoy. And I'm loving writing it.

To Princess-Aiel: --hits Sidious with the Fying Pan of Doom, given by Go For It--Yeah, for sure.

To KTfanfic: Good to see you! Small steps forward . . . .

To SomeoneElsesDream: Glad you think so! I'm so happy! I still can't believe my writing can have that kind of effect on people, but it makes me ecstatic nonetheless. Thanks so much!

Disclaimer: The Flanneled One owns all, and you know the drill.

Chapter Fourteen

_He'd always hated floating in bacta._

_The fact that all he could see were blurred, far-away shapes was enough to bother him. The forced helplessness and the sluggish lethargy the healing fluid brought to his body as it knit wounds together and healed injuries only made it worse. And now he couldn't feel the Force except as a dull, far-away thrumming that throbbed with dull pain in his mind, and Anakin could feel the first stirrings of claustrophobic panic deep in his chest somewhere._

_He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, not that it helped much. Some bacta was being circulated through his damaged lungs at the same time as the air they provided him with, and he could taste it, slick and sour in the back of his throat. It made the pressure around him seem even worse, and it was difficult to focus. On _anything_, even something as simple as breathing._

_He'd been fading in and out of consciousness, caught between wakefulness and dreams, and he couldn't decide which was worse, the dizzying helplessness of waking or the dark agony of his nightmares. Every time he woke it was to hanging suspended in a void of red and cyan fluid, gasping futilely for breath. He tried to focus on his anger so that he could use it to force the fear down and away, to kill the dragon that coiled restlessly inside him, but it slipped away from him and he was left as shaking and afraid as he had ever been, his insides cold and dead with withering terror._

_One of the shapes outside his liquid prison came closer, looming and dark through the obscuring fluid, and Anakin flinched. His instinct was to curl away in fear, but his body didn't respond, simply convulsed with his sudden trembling._

Easy._ The Force sense was familiar and calming, a soothing anchor in the maelstrom of confused emotion that seemed to be all Anakin was these days. He suddenly felt as if large, comforting hands had settled on his shoulders, steadying him gently. He suddenly felt as if he were nine again, terrified to leave home but too hopeful to stay, caught up in a world and situation that he knew nothing about. _Easy. Relax. It's just Healer Risto checking your vital signs. Nothing to be frightened over. You'll be out of here soon enough.

_That deep voice was so familiar, so reassuring. Anakin relaxed without even meaning to. _Who—who are you?_ he stammered mentally._

_A low chuckle. _Come now, don't you remember me? _A wisp of a translucent image formed in the liquid in front of him, until Anakin's straining eyes could make out long, flowing hair, a sharp beak of a nose, regal, leonine features, a beard._

Master Qui-Gon?_ he whispered, hardly daring to believe. What was this, some hallucination brought on by his injuries? Why now? Why Qui-Gon?_

_Another chuckle as the image disappeared, flowing back into the fluid it had coalesced out of. _You and my former apprentice have remarkably similar thoughts on the matter for two beings so at odds with each other,_ came the disembodied voice._

_Confusion spiraled through Anakin._ But—_he thought helplessly, _but . . . you're dead.

_It felt as if that large hand squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, though it was impossible because the touch didn't send spikes of pain shooting through him. _There is no death, Anakin. There is the Force. I know you know the Code better than that.

_Tendrils of nebulous, unformed guilt coiled up from his stomach, and Anakin felt vaguely ill. He hadn't fulfilled the destiny Qui-Gon had seen in him. He wasn't a Jedi, not anymore. Maybe he never really had been. _Why?_ he whispered. _I—I'm not what you wanted. I'm a Sith, not a Jedi. I . . . betrayed you.

_He could almost see Qui-Gon shaking his head._ Does that really matter so much at the moment? You are lost, Anakin. I came here to help you, not to cast blame.

Help me? _Anakin couldn't believe it. Help _him_, after he had proven himself dark and powerful and merciless, after he had turned against the Jedi, destroyed the very Order that had raised and created Qui-Gon, too? _Wh-why?

I believed in you once, Anakin_, came the calm answer. _Do you think I give up that easily?

I—_Anakin didn't know what to think, or to believe._

You don't have to understand right now. _Those incorporeal hands squeezed his shoulders again. _Now, let go your conscious self . . . concentrate inward . . . breathe . . . .

_Anakin closed his eyes and obeyed._

"Master Yoda?"

He looked up as I approached from the window he had been gazing out of, and his ears tilted upward. "Obi-Wan?" he said. "Glad I am to see you. Something troubling you, there is?"

I hesitated, uncertain how to put this. _Oh, go on, Kenobi, the worst is that he'll think the stress is getting to you and you're a few components short of a lightsaber. _"Ah—Master Yoda, is it possible to . . . return from the netherworld of the Force?"

His eyes narrowed. "Many things are possible, Obi-Wan. Why ask do you?"

I hesitated again. But Qui-Gon had told me to ask Yoda about the metaphysics . . . "Master Qui-Gon has . . . appeared to me through the Force." _There it is; I've said it out loud. And Force does it sound stupid. Go on, just tell me I'm having hallucinations and get it over with—_

Yoda's eyes grew round. "Ah, appeared to you he has?" A tiny smile appeared on his ancient, wrinkled face. "Good news, this is, Obi-Wan. Good news."

I was left to stare at him like an idiot. "G-good news?" I managed to stammer. "Master Yoda, I don't—"

A shadow of his old twinkle brightened Yoda's eyes. "Training I have for you, Obi-Wan."

"Training?" I repeated, wondering if I could possibly sound any less intelligent.

"An old friend has learned the path to immortality," he said. "One who has returned from the Netherworld of the Force—your old Master."

"Qui-Gon?" I repeated, my voice shaking with incredulous joy. I almost fell at the strength of the emotions coursing through me, emotions I couldn't lock away, couldn't ignore or deny. "Than—than it's real? I'm not . . . hallucinating? It's _real_?"

"Real it is," Yoda confirmed, and his gaze was gentle, even tender. "You have communed with him?"

I dropped to my knees, not only to be on a more even level with the Jedi Master but because my legs were shaking so badly I doubted they could hold me anymore. I felt as if I had been caught in strong arms the moment before I hit the ground, as if in the darkest moment of my despair someone had shone a light to show me the way. "Y-yes," I managed. "Yes, though only in my dreams." I continued staring at him blankly, my eyes blurry with elation and indescribable relief. "While I was sleeping," I clarified dazedly.

His tiny smile widened. "How to commune with him waking, I will teach you."

_Anakin didn't like bacta, but he didn't mind Healer Risto. Her soft touch was like a combination of his mom and Padmé, and she smelled clean and nice, like Alderaanian t'il blossoms. He wondered if she wore perfume, like Padmé did. She supported him without making him feel weak and pathetic somehow as she helped him out of the bacta tank, wiping up the cool, goopy liquid as it dripped off him and pooled around his feet, her hands sure and gentle as she ran a sheet of absorbent fabric over his face, his chest, back through his hair, and he didn't feel like a cripple as she helped him back to the bed. His mind was fuzzy and blank, but he was aware of that much as if it were coming from very, very far away. She murmured softly to him all the while, and he was comforted and so much more relaxed than he had been, as if somehow being in the bacta tank had spread peace and reassurance throughout his entire body. Anakin thought there was something he should remember about his time in the tank, something that had happened, but it slipped away from him even as he reached for it and he was too bleary and limp to pursue it. Healer Risto didn't hook him back up the respirator, either, and Anakin was glad. He had hated that thing . . . ._

_He came back to consciousness sometime later with a feeling of wrongness, of sharpness, as if the Force had been broken and the serrated edges were pushing up against the edges of his mind. Anakin moaned and shook his head in protest, trying to free himself of the uncomfortable sensation on the inside of his skull._

_Instead, it just came into sharper focus, redefining itself not as broken Force but as an uncomfortably sharp, unwelcome but vaguely familiar presence. Anakin bit his lip against another moan and looked up into the blazing blue eyes of the man who had told him that Padmé was dying._

_The man's lips curved in a wry, twisted sort of smile. "How are we feeling today, Chosen One?" he sneered. "Enjoy your dip in the bacta tank?" Something in the expression on his face told Anakin that this man knew how much he hated bacta treatments._

"_Leave me alone," Anakin mumbled. He didn't want this. He didn't want this man to dredge up the darkness again, scrape it against the shards of a heart still raw and bleeding. He just wanted to sleep, not think, not feel, just sleep and see if some of the broken parts of Anakin Skywalker might tumble back together from inside the shell of Vader._

"_Oh, poor baby," the man shot back. "Leave you alone? Like you left the Jedi alone? The Separatists? How many of the children cried as you hacked them to pieces, scum? How many of the aliens begged for mercy?"_

_Images of darkness and death, his saber flashing through innocents and guilty alike, swam in front of Anakin's eyes, and he swallowed the growing lump of carbonite in his throat with an effort. It thudded, cold and hard and nauseating, into his stomach._

_They had deserved to die. They had _had _to die. He had had no choice._

_But the tears of the children still swam in his head, their screams echoed in his ears._

_He had done what no other had the strength to do. He had saved the Republic. He had saved his Empire._

_His eyes narrowed as he stared at the man. Slowly, unsteadily, he pushed himself up on his good arm. "What . . . do you . . . want?" The question was coherent this time, even if his words were slow and every one of them took a tremendous effort._

_The blow to his face was like being hit with a cargo lifter. The shock knocked him back onto the bed and set his ears ringing. Anakin caught himself somehow with a hand on the edge of the bed before he tumbled off it and lay there, gasping. His teeth had bitten deep into his lip at the force of the blow, and he could feel blood trickling slowly out of his mouth, down his cheek. Anger ignited within him like a lightsaber blade at the knowledge that there was no way for him to wipe the blood away in his relatively helpless state._

_The man seemed not to have heard him. "You did this," he said raggedly, and his eyes were filled with tears. "Haven't you seen Kenobi staggering around like a lost soul? His eyes fill with unshed tears every time he sits by your bedside and looks at your wounds. Master Yoda has aged centuries in a few days. General Organa looks at me as if there is something broken and bleeding inside him. Senator Amidala—Senator Amidala is pale and ashen, like death already, and she sobs when she thinks of you. Don't you _see_ what you've done? You are a _monster_! You have destroyed a thousand years of justice and democracy, and for _what_?"_

_He hit Anakin again, an open-handed slap across his face. The man's words had momentarily stunned and dazed him, made his heart wrench and bleed and ache, but the physical pain brought him back to Gardulla and Watto, and he was _not _going to be pushed down anymore or pulled like a grass-cub between three Corellian sand-panthers. Now he had the power to push back. And Sidious had given him permission. "_Leave me ALONE!" _he roared. The Force surged around him, and it caught the man and slammed him back against the wall. He crumpled and fell in a limp heap to the floor._

_Anakin collapsed on the bed. He could feel the tears well up and slip down his cheeks, feel his chin trembling, the hot prickling of more tears, the carbonite back in his throat. "J-just l-leave me alone," he whispered, the words catching on a sobbing breath. He didn't want to cry anymore, but he couldn't seem to stop himself._

_And he had the feeling that a Sith Lord shouldn't cry._

6


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Right. So I think Bant actually died _during_ the Clone Wars in canon, but since this is an AU I can really do whatever I want in that respect. And sorry it took me so long. Again. Thanksgiving's coming up, and you know what that means to professors--pile on the homework! On a different note, this story is now posted on the boards at if anyone wants to check it out there as well.

To Anakin's Girl 4eva: Sorry. I guess I'm just a mean person. ;) And thanks for Onasi back. I'm going to need him soon. The fellow in the last chapter was Onasi . . . .

To VA-Parky: Thanks! I'm so glad you're enjoying. I couldn't have Qui-Gon not make an appearance, after all. I'm thrilled my writing was able to make you feel sympathy for all the characters--that was one of my major goals, I guess you could say, to reflect the complexity inherent in this kind of situation in my writing.

To Queengoddess: (hugs back) For some reason the asterisks aren't working. Anyway, I'm really happy you felt that way, since that was pretty much what I was going for, and I wanted it to be realistic. I was trying to make Onasi almost understandable, but not quite. And keep your hopes up in the brotherly hug department. That's all I'm going to say about that. I always thought that bacta tanks would really be unpleasant, especially for someone as active and athletic as Anakin, so I tried to reflect that in my descriptions. And we all know Qui-Gon would never leave him to suffer through that on his own. Communed gives you funny visions? Ugh--we don't want _that_. ;) I'm so glad you enjoyed it! This last one and chapter Six have been my favorites to write so far. I'm an emotion junkie too!

To Busanda: Yeah, I didn't want to make it too easy. I didn't think it would be, and I want this story to be realistic. And thank you so much!

To Eruvyweth: Um, yeah. Die already, Onasi. Oh wait, don't--I still need you! After I'm done with you, then you can die. Hmm, you're right about a lot of that. We are approaching the "end of the middle," I suppose you'd call it. And ah--the "Writer's Code!"

To KTfanfic: It's always a compliment to hear that someone can't wait to find out what happens next! Thank you!

To Quill of Molliemon: He does, doesn't he? And Onasi does indeed have terrible timing.

To Go For It: Good excuse indeed! I use that excuse to read manga--"look, I'm practicing Japanese! I am, really!" And--wow, what a compliment. I'm honored that I've made your Star Wars universe more interesting. That was all I could hope for, really.

To NalaStormhunter: Thanks so much! And Onasi is pretty bad, isn't he? I'm thrilled you think Obi-Wan is in character. Sorry about the delay in updating. I try, I try, but so often I don't succeed. Some Jedi I make, eh?

To SuperBlonde: Hmm, about Onasi--well, just read the next chapter, eh? And yes, gotta love ghostly Qui-Gon indeed!

To : The ether thinks I'm getting better and better. What can I say?

To Alley Parker: Thanks! And I have to agree, on both counts.

To Mrs. A.Skywalker: Nice to see you on TF.N. Anakin's doing okay with Onasi on his own. ;) Thanks so much!

To Hieiko: Beware the dark side, you must. But yes, Anakin isn't as Sithy as he thinks he is, is he?

To Princess-Aiel: Poor Ani. At least in this story he's not that blistered. And still hot. Do think I could do that to Anakin?

To FuNny cIdE: Thanks! Hearing everyone in character is one of the best compliments I can receive! And I'm so glad you think it's believable.

To Bubleishish: Patience, my young Padawan. But yes, Padme is doing much better this time around. And I did introduce the person--just not in that chapter.

To Juliana: Wow, thanks! You can count on there being at least an update a week. I have made a vow.

To light-: He is awful, isn't he? I feel guilty just writing him.

Fifteen

Padmé hadn't changed out of the simple white shift of a patient, with her hair curling loose about her shoulders and down her back, yet she still managed to look as poised and elegant as if she were dressed for a formal meeting with fellow senators or an elaborate gala. She smiled when she saw me, pushing herself up on her pillows. I took a seat by the side of her bed. "Obi-Wan," she said. Her voice was still a little hoarser than normal, but the bruises Anakin's rage had left on her throat were nearly completely gone. "Shian told me that Anakin went into the bacta tank yesterday."

I nodded. "Yes, he did, in preparation for surgery." I felt a twinge of worry as I said the words. Anakin had always hated bacta treatments, but there was nothing I could do to make the necessary procedure easier on him. I looked down at my hands, rough, callused with the scars of lightsaber practice. It was these hands that had held the saber that severed Anakin's leg, these hands that—

Padmé reached out and closed her hand around mine. Her grip was white-knuckled and tense, and I looked up at her in surprise. "He—he looked awful, Obi-Wan," she said, her voice small. "I'm afraid."

A tight knot of guilt formed in my throat, and I had to swallow hard to force my words around it. "I'm sorry, Padmé," I said quickly. "I'm sorry; I know I'm the one who hurt him. I—I didn't want to, please believe me."

She shook her head. "I don't blame you, Obi-Wan." She took a deep, shuddering breath, and laid her other hand against her stomach, as if to protect her unborn children. "It—it could have been a lot worse, I know." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, and a shaky smile formed on her lips. "The respirator . . . frightened me, but Shian told me that he won't have to be on it for much longer. His lungs weren't irreparably damaged, just scorched, she said." She gave me a brave, wider smile. "Ani's strong, you know. He'll be better soon."

I couldn't respond to that. Anakin _was_ strong, physically. But emotionally I wasn't so sure. All I could hear was his voice telling me that I should have left him—but I would never tell Padmé of that conversation. "Yes," I managed finally. "Yes, he'll be . . . better soon."

She loosened her grip on my hand, but didn't let go. "I didn't want to leave him," she murmured. "I was . . . afraid he might . . . break. He—he held onto me. He didn't want to let me go . . . as if he thought I might disappear if he did. I stayed until he fell asleep again." She took another deep breath and looked back up at me. "What did Palpatine do to him, Obi-Wan? He was so afraid."

I shook my head helplessly. "I don't know, Padmé. Palpatine has been . . . working on him . . . ever since he first started at the Jedi Temple. At first I—" I could barely force myself to admit the depths of my failure, and my voice broke "—at first I encouraged him. Anakin was so lonely, and I thought that—that someone so powerful showing an interest in him would help him feel . . . more at home."

"It wasn't your fault, Obi-Wan!" Her voice was stronger this time. "You were young and inexperienced. How were you supposed to know? We were all fooled by him! Even the great Masters of the Council." Her eyes flashed, and her hand tightened around mine again. "_I _was fooled by him! I was so naïve—I thought he might relinquish his powers after this crisis was over. I actually thought he might reopen diplomatic relations with the Separatists." She shook her head in obvious self-disgust. "How long has he been manipulating all of us? And it was my fault he was elected in the first place! Mine!" Her voice shook, and she trailed off into silence for a moment, but before I could muster up a reply she was speaking again, her face turned back to me. "Obi-Wan," she said. "Tell me about the Sith."

"Padmé," I said helplessly, "Padmé, I don't think—"

"Tell me, Obi-Wan," she said even more firmly. "I want to know what—what my Anakin has become."

I couldn't argue with her. "The Sith broke off from the Jedi millennia ago," I started unhappily. I didn't look at her. Looking at her would remind me that this story wasn't just a history lesson, that what I described was _Anakin_ now, and I knew I wouldn't be able to continue once that happened. "At first there were . . . many . . . but after a battle with the Jedi in which they were almost destroyed through fighting among themselves, one lord made the decree that forever after that there would only be two Sith—a master and an apprentice. Darth Sidious—Palpatine—is the current Sith master. Dooku was his apprentice, until Anakin killed him. Recently, Anakin took Dooku's place, as Darth Vader." I took a deep, shaking breath. "The goal of the Sith has always been power, and the destruction of—of—the Jedi." I could barely get out the last words, and Padmé's hand tightened on mine, concern softening her pale features, but I continued too quickly for her to speak. That wasn't something I wanted to talk about. "The Sith use the . . . dark side of the Force. They rely on their passion and their anger for their strength. The dark side is . . .a corruption. Once a person taps into it, it becomes easier and easier all the time, more and more seductive." I stared down at where her hand gripped mine so tightly. "That is why I fear Anakin is lost," I whispered.

She shifted her hand so that her fingers were entwined with mine and squeezed slightly. "I told you," she said. "Anakin is strong." She sighed. "Even though he is afraid . . . of so many things," she added. "He is afraid of losing the people he cares about. He didn't want to tell you about us because he was afraid you wouldn't be able to respect him. He didn't want you to have to choose the Council over him."

"He shouldn't have been afraid," I whispered, still not meeting her eyes. "I—I already knew."

Padmé nodded. "I understand that. But that's not the way Anakin is." She sighed. "He lost his mother. He—he was afraid of losing me, too. I'm afraid that's what . . . ." She stopped. "I know that's how Palpatine coerced him."

I stared. I was missing something here, some vital piece of the puzzle, and at the moment nothing Padmé was saying made real sense. "But why, Padmé?" I asked blankly. "Why would he be afraid of losing you? The Clone Wars didn't destroy the two of you. Why was—why _is_—he so afraid now?"

Padmé took a deep breath. "He—he had nightmares. I dismissed them. I tried to get him to forget them, but I should have known better. They were like the ones he had about his mother, he said, and they were about me. He was convinced that I would die in childbirth. He was convinced that he had to save me." She stared down at her lap, smoothing one hand over her rounded stomach. "I think Palpatine promised him a way to stop me from dying," she whispered.

Horror washed over me as I looked at her, and I knew all at once that she was telling the truth. "You are not going to die in childbirth, Padmé," I told her firmly.

She looked up at me and smiled. "I know. I think that danger's passed. I think that vision of the future has changed. For a moment there, on my ship, when I thought Anakin wasn't going to come back—when I felt such agony from him—I thought I _was _going to die. It felt—it felt like my heart was breaking, and I didn't want to live anymore, not without Anakin. But then I felt you saving him, holding him, I don't know how—and then you were there, and you told me that he was with us, and I knew I was going to live."

"Padmé," I said, feeling helpless. "Anakin isn't saved yet. Not completely."

She shook her head. "Hope is all I need, Obi-Wan. Hope, and faith in him. I told you. He is afraid—so afraid—but he is strong, too. He survived on Tatooine. He is a great Jedi. A hero. He survived Jabiim, when he thought he'd lost you. He'll survive this." She reached up and touched my cheek, giving me a warm smile. "Don't worry so much."

I stared at her for a moment, hardly able to believe her courage, her faith. It struck me how fortunate Anakin was that he had someone who loved him so, who believed in him like that.

And I felt empty. Empty and hollow and alone, bleeding to death inside where once there had been certainty and the steadying presence of the other Jedi. To my horror, I could see my hands start to shake. "Obi-Wan," Padmé said quickly. "Obi-Wan, what's wrong?"

I couldn't answer her. I couldn't do this; I had to be strong. My personal losses didn't matter, only Anakin and Padmé and Master Yoda, the fate of the galaxy and the fledgling rebellion centered around this out-of-the-way medical center.

But the hollow feeling grew and grew inside of me, until I couldn't fight it any longer and my entire being seemed to be consumed by the pain of feeling all those presences like lights in the Force brutally snuffed out, ripped away from me, leaving me reeling and drowning and lost in the darkness. My life had been shattered in those few agonizing minutes, my heart torn out of my chest and tossed away.

I only slowly realized that I was crying. "Oh, Obi-Wan," Padmé said softly, her thumb moving over my cheek, wiping away my tears.

Her gentle touch and sympathetic words broke something inside of me, and I collapsed forward, sobs tearing themselves from my lips. "They—they're all gone," I whispered haltingly. "All of them. I—I—I can't feel anyone—th-they're all gone. I'm all a-alone." I barely felt it as she reached forward and wrapped her arms around me, supporting me against her shoulder, holding me up, her hand stroking through my hair. I was lost, somewhere inside myself where I was empty and lost and everything was gone, where the darkness was dizzying and infinite and went on forever. "N-not even the younglings survived—n-not even th-the Healers. I—I—I—"

My voice stuttered to a stop. I simply couldn't speak anymore as the images replayed in my mind—Cin Drallig, my first lightsaber master after Yoda, lying dead at my feet, a lightsaber burn through his chest. He had always believed in me, even when I'd thought I'd never be chosen as a Padawan. Jocasta Nu—she wasn't even on field duty anymore, but there she had lain, her crumpled body across the door of the library she had so zealously guarded in life. The children. The bodies of Healers, one old man, crusty and gruff, who had been one of the gentlest Healers in the Temple. I hadn't wanted to go into the Healing Ward, I was too afraid of what I'd find, but I'd had to. It was my duty. I'd hardly recognized her at first—Bant, my gentle friend. She wasn't supposed to die like that—she was supposed to be _safe_ at the temple. She had thrown herself across a child in a medical bed in what I knew had been an effort to save him. They had lain there together in death, her silver eyes closed forever, her lightsaber, unused, a few feet from her body. At least her only wounds were blaster burns—that crime, at least, was none of Anakin's.

The sobs wrenched out of me so hard my chest hurt. My throat was sore, and yet the tears kept coming, my hands clenching in the cloth at Padmé's shoulders. I wasn't even aware she was there anymore, just that someone was holding me, that I wasn't alone, that there was the warmth of a comforting body beneath me and a gentle hand stroking through my hair, a voice murmuring softly to me.

"They're all gone," I repeated blankly. "I c-can't f-feel them anymore. L-Luminara, Kit, K-Ki-Adi M-Mundi—M-master Windu. Gone."

"Obi-Wan," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. You've lost so much. I'm so sorry."

I bit my lip, struggling to get myself under control, to stop the tears, to regain my calm. I tried to straighten up and pull away—but she caught my shoulders, pulling me back. "No," she said. "No. You need this. You need to cry. Let it out."

I couldn't help it. I wasn't strong enough. I gave a hiccoughing moan of acceptance and collapsed against her again as the storm of weeping continued to sweep through me. She kept holding me, her hand wiping the tears away from my face even as my beard grew damp and soggy with them, her other hand stroking through my hair and rubbing my shivering shoulders. Eventually the tears slowed and then came to a stop. I simply didn't have anything left, not even tears. Somehow, though, the sharp pain in my heart had dulled to a low, far-away ache, not gone, not healed, but . . . better.

"How's that?" Padmé whispered after a long moment, and I realized with a start that my head was still pillowed on her shoulder, my hands clenched in her shift. I dropped it at once and sat back, humiliation coursing through me. I could feel a hot flush creeping up my neck.

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered. "That was inappropriate of me."

She smiled. "Oh, Obi-Wan," she said again. "It's not inappropriate to hold a friend who needs to cry."

I took a deep breath and willed the blush to dissipate. "You're Anakin's wife," I mumbled.

I could see her trying not to giggle. "Really," she said. "It's okay."

The door-chime rang, and I leapt at the chance to regain my equilibrium. "I'll get it," I said needlessly, since Padmé was confined to her bed at the moment, and started for the door.

It slid aside to reveal Shian. She gave me a quick, penetrating look that I had no doubt took in everything from my mussed hair to my reddened eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and dampened beard. She reached up to squeeze my shoulder wordlessly before she started into the room. "Feeling all right today, m'lady?" she asked as she crossed to look at the screens that monitored both Padmé's health and that of the babies, giving me time to collect myself and rub the sleeve of my tunic across my face.

"I'm feeling fine, Shian," Padmé responded. "How's Anakin?"

Shian looked up from the monitor she was examining. "He's all right," she said. "Better than all right, actually, the last time I checked. But I—I need to talk to you about something. General Kenobi?"

I looked up, feeling a chill of foreboding settle in the pit of my stomach. It was the first time I had heard her say anything so hesitantly. "Yes, Healer Risto?"

She took a deep breath. "I was checking over the medical droid records for General Skywalker's room and I found a visit from Commander Onasi recorded that I had no knowledge of. The medical droid sounded no alarm because Commander Onasi is down on its list of authorized visitors. This visit was directly prior to the incident in which General Skywalker fell off his bed and re-injured his back. During this visit Anakin's vital signs spiked, both heart and breath rates, but they were inside of the acceptable range so the medical droid again sounded no alarm." She gave me a wry, twisted grin. "Looks like we know what upset Anakin so badly, eh?"

Padmé reacted first. "What?" she demanded in what I privately thought of as her "Senator" voice. "You think Commander Onasi—"

"Anakin was terrified that you were dying when I went to check on him, after you felt his . . . agitation," I told her dully. "I had no idea what had set him off like that. His fear seemed irrational." I gave Shian a grim glance. "I suppose we know the cause now."

Padmé took a deep, shaking breath. "He told Anakin that I was dying?" she whispered, her hands clenching in the blanket that covered her to her waist. "Oh, Ani—"

I felt detached, far-away, as if I had been cut off from my body, but at the same time hot rage was boiling through my veins. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears, pounding in my head. My palms were slick with cold sweat when I clenched my hands into fists, then unclenched them. I heard myself say, "I'm going to kill him," as if from a very long way away, and I barely recognized my own voice.

"Obi-Wan?" I wasn't sure if that uncertain voice belonged to Padmé or Shian, but at that moment I didn't care.

I had warned him. I had _told _him to stay away from Anakin. At that moment it didn't even matter to me that I had only given him that warning after this incident had already taken place. All I could see was Anakin's desperate, tear-damp face, his crumpled body lying curled on the floor, shaking with convulsive sobs. "I'm going to _kill_ him," I ground out. Force, I couldn't even imagine what that had done to Anakin. What had he been thinking? How could he have been so cruel?

I turned away and took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching my fists as I struggled to regain command of myself. I closed my eyes for a moment and blew my breath out slowly.

"Obi-Wan?" It was Shian; this time I recognized her voice.

"We can't let him get away with this," I said, and this time I sounded like my normal self. I opened my eyes and turned back around.

"You're right, Obi-Wan," Shian said, her voice low and serious. "We can't."

Padmé nodded. Her face was tight and set. "Whatever he's doing, we have to stop him." At that moment, I would rather have faced General Grievous all over again than to be on her bad side. "He's not going to hurt Anakin like that again."

7


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry about this, but responding to each reviewer individually is starting to take up a lot of space and time, which I'm sometimes short of, so I'm not going to be able to do it every chapter. Thanks so much for reviewing, though! I'm so thrilled I have so many. And because I'm also too tired tonight to write individual replies, I'm just going to say--thank you all. I really appreciate it. It just makes my day to get reviews and to find out what you all think, and I'm not joking. I even have a life--really, I do!--and it _still _makes my day. The reviews are the reason this story keeps getting written.

So here we go

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The Flanneled One owns everything.

Sixteen

"I think we should check on Skywalker before you go after Onasi, Obi-Wan," Shian was saying.

I raised my head. I had been staring, unseeing, at a random spot on the floor, arms folded broodingly across my chest as I racked my brains for rational strategies as to how I was going to—_confront_, Kenobi, not _punish_—Onasi over what he'd done to Anakin. I wasn't having much success; my mind kept spiraling out of focus as I remembered Anakin's tormented face and red-hot rage welled up within me all over again, setting my teeth on edge. "Why?" I asked, managing somehow to keep my voice calm and steady.

Shian shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand back through her short, loose hair. "First of all, it'll give you some time to cool down and get . . . things back under control, _General_. I don't want you to end up doing something you'll regret."

I took a deep breath, frustrated at the proposed delay but all too aware of how right she was. "Yes," I said grudgingly. "You're right. Good plan." I ran a hand over my face, thinking. "Anakin came out of bacta earlier today, correct?" She nodded. "I'd like to talk to him about this Onasi, anyway," I added under my breath, the memory of Anakin shaking and teary and frantic rising in my mind again. I took a deep breath and tried to focus.

"You're not the only one," Padmé broke in. "You make sure Onasi's never going to do anything like that to Anakin ever again, Obi-Wan, understand?"

I gave her a quick smile. "Understood, Senator."

"Secondly," Shian continued, "I—wanted your opinion on something, Obi-Wan."

"Hmm?" I asked, meeting her eyes again.

"I don't understand it," she started, her mouth beginning to curve in a slight smile, "but it's amazing. I've never seen anything like it, even in the other Jedi I've tended over the course of this war—General Skywalker's condition has rapidly improved. I was worried about his lungs healing; they were scorched pretty badly and at first he didn't respond well to the bacta, but then it took this giant leap forward in effectiveness." Her voice was bemused, her expression bewildered, but her smile only widened. "I took him off the breather after his treatment this morning, while you were in meditation with Master Yoda, and he's breathing fine. And his overall condition is just a lot stronger—it's like he's slept naturally for a week straight, not just a few days drugged, and the shock of his injuries has eased quite a bit. I'm starting to think he'll make a fairly complete recovery."

"Really?" The word slipped out before I could help myself, and I could hear my voice trembling with suppressed emotion. I felt as if the bubble of hope that had lodged in my heart after my meditations with Yoda had suddenly swelled, buoying me upward and pulling me out from where I had fallen along with Anakin in the pits of Mustafar. "A complete recovery?"

Shian nodded. Padmé gave a low cry and covered her face with her hands as tears welled in her eyes and began to slip down her face.

"Padmé?" I asked worriedly, going immediately to her side. I rested my hand on her shoulder. "Padmé, are you all right? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice shuddering and thick with tears. She sniffed and started wiping at her eyes. "I'm fine; I'm sorry. I'm just—I'm so relieved—I thought—I thought I'd—thought I might—lose him—"

I realized just how much of her brave words earlier had been for my benefit, and I felt my throat close up. "You're not going to lose him, Padmé," I promised recklessly. "_We're _not going to lose him."

"That's right," Padmé said shakily, and she smiled through her tears and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Go on, Obi-Wan," she said, and shoved me lightly away. "Go to Ani."

I nodded and stepped back from the bed. "I'll take care of him for you," I told her, and she smiled.

"I know you will," she replied. "That's how I got through the wars. Now go."

I went.

Shian followed me out into the hall. "I can see how she became a Senator," she remarked with a smile.

I nodded in agreement. "Padmé is very strong. Stronger, I think, than I sometimes."

Shian reached up and squeezed my shoulder. "I don't know about that," she said. "You're not doing so bad yourself, Obi-Wan."

I didn't know how to respond to that, or to the blush suddenly warming my cheeks. "Th-thank you," I said uncertainly.

She just smiled at me again and started down the corridor. I followed. "So he could have put himself in a healing trance?" she asked. "I've heard Jedi reference that skill before, and that's what I wanted to ask you about. Do you think that's how he healed so quickly?"

"I—I don't know." I ran a hand back through my hair as I considered it. "Healing trances have never been Anakin's strong suit, and drugged that heavily—" But then my mind returned to Qui-Gon, and I could feel a slight smile of understanding touch my lips. "On the other hand, it could very well have been one."

"Well," Shian said. "Whatever it was, it takes a huge weight off _my _mind, let me tell you." She turned a corner and started off down the next corridor. "He's really a lot more stable. I was afraid we were going to have to delay surgery for the prosthetics, but he should be ready on schedule—another day or so. It's a real relief." She looked back at me as she stopped by Anakin's door and began to key it open. "For you, too, I'm sure." She gave me another grin and this time I smiled shakily back.

"Indeed. That's . . . good news." It was all I manage at the moment.

"You are well-versed in understatement, Obi-Wan," Shian said with a laugh, and the door slid open. I followed her inside.

The sense of wrongness immediately hit me through the Force. The drugs had dulled and distorted it, but here in the same room with Anakin it churned nausea in the back of my throat, made me feel vaguely off-balance. My eyes focused on him at once, lying on his stomach at the side of the bed, the sheet twisted up around his torso and legs and his face buried in the crook of his one good arm. His still-bandaged shoulders were shaking and the fingers of that arm had clenched around the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles were livid white and his muscles so taut with strain they stood out in sharp relief all the way up his arm to his shoulder.

Healer Risto glanced over at the monitor by his bedside that kept track of his vital signs, then skirted the bed at a pace so quick it was almost a run. As she did so, I heard a groan that hadn't come from Anakin and hurried forward to join her.

Aerdin Onasi was only now sitting up, holding a hand to the back of his head. It was the first time I had seen his hair disordered, and the thick dark locks fell onto his forward in unruly waves. The entire right side of his head was a swelling violet-dark bruise that looked as if would be absolutely awful in the morning, the worst bruises around his eye and ear and across his cheekbone where the skin was bruised so dark it was almost black.

I saw crimson. My hands were on his throat, slamming him into the wall, before I even realized what I was doing. "_What did you do to him?_" I demanded. My voice shook with fury. The rush of emotion made my hands tremble. "What the _Force_ did you do to him?"

There was a small hand on my arm, drawing me back. I tried to shake it off, but Shian only tightened her hold. "Obi-Wan," she said. "Easy. Easy, General. This won't do us any good, all right?"

Clarity returned to me with a rush. I took a deep breath and let Onasi sag back against the wall, but as soon as my hands relaxed their grip on his tunic, his face twisted in anger, and he lunged forward. I ducked out of the way of his fist easily, and he overbalanced and fell to the floor once again.

I stared down at him, my breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps, and felt sick. So this was what it had come to—the Emperor had brought us all this low. Stress and worry and fear and pain and loss had turned both of us into uncivilized louts brawling on the floor of a medical room.

And Force help me, I still wanted to kill him.

"Talk fast, Commander," I managed more calmly. "What did you do?"

"Do?" Onasi asked blearily. He brought his hand up to the back of his head again and then stared down at the blood coating his fingers. "I didn't _do_ anything—that little Hutt-slime threw _me _into the wall!" I stiffened at the insult to Anakin, but Healer Risto tightened her hand on my arm again, steadying me before I did so much as draw in a quick breath. Onasi looked up and gave me a glare of pure fury. "And then you come in and start tossing me around, Kenobi—what the kriff do you think you're doing?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but Shian beat me to it. "I can't believe this," she burst out. "Will you two start acting like adults and not posturing adolescents! Do you think beating the Force out of each other is going to solve anything?" She gave me a look that said, _Wait, we can confront him over this later_, and went to kneel by Onasi's side. "Commander Onasi," she continued, "do you think you have any serious injuries?"

He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said, his tone sullen, almost grudging.

"Excellent," Shian replied briskly, reaching down and bracing her hands under his shoulder. I had no idea why a sudden spark of irritation passed through me at the sight of them so close together, except that we both knew what kind of a person he was and it bothered me that she was so close to a potential enemy. "All right then, up you get." She half-pushed, half-pulled Onasi to his feet, and under the guise of steadying him leaned toward me. "Check on Anakin," she whispered quickly. "See if there's any—" She reached up and brushed her fingers against her eye.

It was a strange signal and reminded me painfully of Anakin in a time before the fire, before the darkness, but I guessed what it meant and backed away until I was kneeling beside Anakin's bed. I stared down at him. This close I could hear his shuddering, uneven breaths and the wet swallows that punctuated them, occasionally a watery sniff that made him sound young and fragile, not at all like a Sith lord or mass-murderer. Some of the bandages on his back had been torn free, and there was fluid leaking out from under them, trickling down his the side of his ribs. He didn't seem aware that I was standing over him, and his lack of response when he should have been able to feel me through the Force the moment I had entered the room made my heart hurt. I reached down and pressed my hand lightly against the intact skin of his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention as gently as possible—

He jerked and erupted into a flurry of motion, body spasming uncontrollably beneath my hand, until he had rolled away from me and lay panting and trembling in the middle of the bed. "O-Obi-Wan?" His voice was frightened and uncertain and very, very small. "I-is that y-you?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "Yes, it's me." I felt my throat closing up and struggled to swallow as my eyes traced the path of the tears still dripping down his cheeks. I could see the evidence, now—his eye was as bruised and puffy as Onasi's, the skin broken over his cheekbone and still oozing blood, the skin on one side of his face mottled with bruises and swelling. His bottom lip was split and bleeding, and there was more blood trickling out of the side of his mouth. _I _hadn't done that to him; it was no left-over by-product of our duel, and that was fresh blood smeared across his cheek and dribbling out of his mouth.

And Onasi had said he'd done nothing. I took a deep breath, struggling to control the rage spiraling up within me. I closed my eyes for a moment, examined it, and then released it to the Force, blowing my breath out at the same time. After a moment, I opened my eyes again.

Anakin's eyes had closed, though tears still slipped soundlessly down his cheeks. I didn't think he was even aware of them. He flinched as I reached out to take hold of his shoulder again and threw my arm off, his eyes flying open again and blazing topaz fire up at me. "Leave me alone," he growled. "I—I don't need your help."

"Anakin," I said as gently as I could, "don't be ridiculous." I reached out to him again and was again repulsed with a convulsive swat of his good arm.

"N-no," he bit out. "_No_! I don't need your help, Obi-Wan. L-leave me alone."

I rubbed my hand across my eyes, drained and defeated. "What do you want me to do then?" I asked quietly.

Anakin swallowed thickly. "J-just—just go 'way and leave me alone." He sniffed back tears. "I d-don't need anyone's help. I should be strong enough—'m a Sith, I'm the kriffing 'Chosen One'—" His voice was sullen and almost pleading, as if begging for my reassurance.

Reassurance I could no longer give.

"I'm not going to leave you here like this," I said, and I reached forward once again to slide one hand under his shoulders, easily controlling his weak, abortive struggles. His mouth settled into a resentful line as I ran my sleeve carefully across his face, wiping away sweat and blood as gently as I could, but he allowed me to steady him against the pillows so that he was supported on his good side. As I reached down to straighten the blankets that covered him, though, he knocked my hand away again.

"I said leave me alone," he wrenched out. "Is 't so hard t' listen, M-_Master_? Just 'cause I'm too weak to stop you, you do whatever you want t' me, huh?"

"I'm trying to help you," I whispered.

"I don't care!" he suddenly shouted, sounding as if he were close to tears. "You could be here to beat th' Sith out of me and I wouldn't be able to stop you! Because I'm still not strong enough!"

At the sudden outburst Shian stopped at the door, Onasi still leaning on her shoulder, and turned to stare at us, her eyes wide. I barely noticed. "Anakin—" I started.

"I don't want to hear it!" he burst out, and shoved himself up on his good arm so that his hair fell forward into his eyes and his tormented yellow gaze burned into mine. "Y-you're going to say something about how the light side is always stronger than th' dark, and you're wrong because I've felt it—but you don't have t' say anything, don't you understand? I already _know_ I'm a failure! I'm a f-failure as a Sith an' I was a f-failure as a Jedi—and I wish I knew whatthe kriff is_wrong with me_!" His voice was hoarse and tormented and breaking and at those words his strength seemed to flood out of him all in a rush.

"What's _wrong _with you?" Onasi suddenly broke in. "I'll tell you what's wrong with you, you little vreldt, you amoral—"

I could see Shian shake him even as I opened my mouth. "One more word and I'll let the General rip your head off," she muttered. Onasi fell silent.

Anakin hadn't even flinched at his taunts. If anything his whole body had become even more listless and limp, collapsing in on itself, and he gave a broken, sobbing breath as Onasi was cut off. It hurt me to see that he wasn't even bothering to fight back, that he had let Onasi get to him like that.

"Anakin—" I knew full well that I had to say something, but I had no idea what I _could _say.

"Anakin, it's not like that—"

"Don't lie!" he nearly screamed. "You . . . always p-punished me, always lectured me. Th-the Council n-never trusted me. I was never good enough!"

"Never good enough?" I repeated in a whisper. "Anakin, you were always good enough. More than good enough. You were a joy as a Padawan, everything I'd wanted for you as a Knight. It was me—"

Anakin gave a hoarse, wild laugh. "_You_? Don' try t' be funny, Master. You _never_ _wanted me_!" The frenzied words sounded as if they were torn out of some secret place deep inside his soul, and I froze as they struck me.

Had he carried that burden all these years? Force, what a fool I had been—what a fool I still was. I thought he'd understood how much I'd come to care for him over these years, more than I should have, more than I had ever expected to. The unwanted burden Qui-Gon had left me with had slowly turned into my closest friend, my son, my brother. He was the person I cared for more than anyone else in the world, one of the few tonics that soothed my war-torn soul. _And the source ofyour greatest pain, the deepest loss you've ever had to face_, another part of me whispered.

How could he not have understood the way I'd felt?

"It wasn't like that," I said helplessly. "I told you, Anakin. You were—you—" I trailed off, floundering for words, and took a deep breath. Maybe it would be better to start at the beginning. "I-it's true I didn't want you at first, and I'm sorry for it. I was a young, heartbroken fool, too lost in my own pain to see yours and I—will always regret that. But before long I realized that—that even if I had not made that promise I would have chosen you, Anakin. If some other, worthier Master hadn't chosen you first, that is."

I could hear Onasi give a snort of disgust and Shian's low, angry whisper in return. Anakin's eyes were locked desperately on my face, and he flinched visibly at the derisive sound. "But I—I'm a Sith now," he whispered. "I—Master, I—" He clenched his hand into a fist and squared his shoulders, the fire in his eyes flaring upward again. "I destroyed the Jedi. I would have killed you. I could kill you right now. Are you sure, Obi-Wan? D-don't you want to kill m-me, too?"

His voice was hard and unforgiving, his eyes filled with darkness and flame, but his gaze was fixed unwaveringly on my face, hungry and desperate. "I tried," I told him honestly. I felt raw and naked, as if all my defenses had been torn away and he was staring into my still-bleeding, still-broken heart. "I-I couldn't." I braced my hands against the side of the bed and stared down at them. "I—I wanted to." My fingers clenched. "I wanted to—hate you. I wanted to want to hurt you. I _should have_. But I—I couldn't."

"I killed them, Obi-Wan," Anakin said. No, not Anakin, his voice was far away and rough with darkness. Vader. "I slaughtered them. Even the younglings. I burned the Temple to the ground. I killed even those who begged for mercy. I killed Master Drallig. I killed Jocasta Nu. I killed the children. Can you still forgive me?"

I felt hot wetness on the backs of my hands and I realized I was crying. "I—" I started, and then my voice wavered out of control. "How could you do that?" I screamed. My voice was ragged and hoarse and sounded nothing like my own. I raised my head to look him in the eyes, but I could hardly see him through my tears. "The Temple was our home, Anakin! Y-you took everything away from me. How could you have helped that monster? You were my brother, Anakin! I trusted you!"

"I trusted _you_," came that dark voice, shaking with fury of its own, "and you betrayed me. _Master_. The Jedi betrayed me. E-even P-Padmé betrayed me!" His voice broke, and I could hear Anakin again, lost in that dark, angry shell.

I raised my hands and rubbed my tears out of my eyes. "How did she betray you, Anakin?" I asked. "I—I don't understand. She loves you. She loves you more than life itself; it may be a cliché but it's true." _She loves you more than I do, and I love you like the brother I never had, like the other half of my soul._

"She was with you," Anakin muttered resentfully. "She—didn't wait for me, she went to you and she brought you with her and all this time she—and you—and—and what if the child's not even m-mine, it's _yours_?" He was crying now, great gulping, helpless sobs that shook his entire body, and I couldn't do anything but stare at him blankly. I actually didn't understand what he was talking about for a long, frozen moment.

"_What_?" I burst out as soon as I realized what he meant. "Anakin, I—first of all, Padmé would never—and I—I am a _Jedi_!"

"Obviously that doesn't mean much," came Onasi's low murmur, and I'd had enough.

"Shut _up_!" I shouted, and reinforced it with the Force. I could see his head snap back with the power behind it.

Anakin wrapped his arm around himself and rocked back and forth, still breathing raggedly, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I—I had to—she betrayed me—you betrayed me—" he mumbled. "You hurt me, I—"

"No," I said, nearly shouting the words now. "It's not like that at all. Padmé and I have never—never thought about each other that way. She wasn't even aware I was on that ship. I was desperate to find you and I stowed away; she had no knowledge I was onboard, and it had nothing to do with her."

Anakin gave a quick, sobbing gasp. "N-no," he moaned. "No, that's—that's just not possible."

I could feel annoyance trickling through the shock now, building up inside my throat and giving my words a sharp, angry edge. "Not only is it possible, Anakin, it's the truth. Padmé did nothing but love you, and you turned on her, you nearly killed her in your anger and hatred. _That _is what the dark side did for you, that is the strength it gave you. The strength to slaughter innocents and injure those who only ever wanted to help you, to attack your wife and your own unborn children. Are you proud of yourself now, Anakin? Does it fill the emptiness inside to know that you are Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith?"

"No!" Anakin screamed. "No, no, stop!" Tears were pouring down his cheeks now, ever faster. "I—I didn't, I—I couldn't . . . I had to—to save her, that's all I wanted, to save her . . . . I never—I never—I couldn't have—" He fell forward, nearly tumbling off the bed again, and I caught him, steadying him. He grabbed hold of my tunic and pulled me close so he could stare into my face, scanning it frantically. "Y—you're not lying," he moaned.

"I'm not lying," I replied, and he let out a long, low wail, as if his heart had been utterly shattered.

"_NO!_" he shouted, wrenching away from me, out of my restraining hold, to fall weakly back against the bed and bury his face in the sheet that covered it. "N-no," he sobbed. "I—I—wh-what have I done? Oh, M-Master, w-what have I _done_?" He looked back up at me, and I realized that the topaz-yellow of his eyes was awash in streaks of cerulean. My anger left me in a rush, and I was left tired and empty, aching to see Anakin shaking and tortured. "Master, I—" another hoarse sob tore itself from his throat. "I—I hurt her." More yellow ebbed away, and another storm of weeping shook his body. "Oh, Force, I—I killed them. I killed them all." I could almost see him drowning in it, the darkness pulling him down, away from me, not the dark side this time but hopelessness and guilt and agony. I reached out to touch his shoulder, and he flinched away again. "D-don't touch me," he blurted. "Don't. I—I don't deserve it—oh, Master, I—what have I done?"

"Anakin," I whispered. My hands were shaking as I reached down to touch his cheek, messy and wet and hot with tears, unruly curls plastered to his skin with the warm wetness. He bit his lip and turned his head into my touch, continuing to shake, his weeping so soft now. "Anakin—"

He turned to me, but he was crying too hard to speak. In his blue eyes all I could see was my brother, torn and destroyed and bleeding, utterly broken inside, and I reached out to pull him into my arms instinctively, careful not to touch his back. He gave a shuddering cry and buried his face in my shoulder, his one strong, muscular arm encircling my neck so tightly I could barely breathe. "I'm sorry," he whispered raggedly against my throat, his voice thick and wet with tears. I could feel warmth and moisture slipping down my neck, seeping into my tunic. "I—I'm sorry, Master. I—I've done . . . such things . . . ."

"Yes, Anakin," I admitted, pulling him tighter with one hand against the good part of his back. It hurt to be holding him so close, to be held so tightly, but I wasn't letting go, not now. I pillowed my chin against the softness of his hair and fought the tears that were coursing down my own cheeks now. "You have. But I'm here. I'm here with you. And I'm not going anywhere."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Again thank you to all my marvelous reviewers. I still don't have enough time to reply to all of you (I've been going through a bit of a time crunch lately, comparatively), but I want to let each and every one of you know how much you taking the time to review means to me.

**Seventeen**

I had never seen Anakin cry like this.

I had seen him cry before, over the years we'd spent together, though he would have hotly denied it in what seemed like the long ago time before our lives had been cruelly torn apart. First in the desolate days after Naboo, blurred in my memory, when he had cried himself to sleep in his room more than once and I had been too absorbed in my own grief to offer him the comfort he'd deserved. Once or twice on missions over the years, when we had faced some horrendous cruelty, and his eyes would fill and he would turn his back to me and try to wipe the tears away so I wouldn't see, and when he turned around his eyes would be angry. After Geonosis, when he had cried alone in his quarters again and I had felt through the Force that I wasn't welcome to offer comfort and thought my heart would break for him. When I had returned after Jabiim, and his eyes had sparkled with triumphant joy through the moisture glistening in them.

But he had never before cried like this, his face pressed into my shoulder and his whole body shuddering with sobs, his fingers clenching into a fist and then unclenching where he clung to my neck. He had never cried as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered and he hadn't a clue how to go about repairing it, never clung to me as if I were his only shelter from an approaching storm and the one thing holding him together, never cried as if the sins of the entire galaxy were battling free of his heart and tearing him to bits in the process. It wasn't a loud or obvious sort of crying, more of an uncontrollable shaking that seemed to have taken over his entire body, the soft sound of trembling breaths and sniffing back tears, hoarse pants for breath in between sobs, my tunics gradually soaking through with his tears. His bare skin was hot and feverish, damp with sweat as well as with weeping, trembling under my hands as I rubbed his shoulders and lower back where it wasn't covered in bacta bandages as reassuringly as I could. He smelled of bacta and sweat and disinfectant, and I could hardly breathe with his arm looped so tightly around my neck but I murmured words of comfort to him all the same, assuring him that we were together now, that he was still my brother, still the other half of the team, that I wouldn't leave him, didn't condemn him, that together, somehow, we could make this right, though I couldn't even see how myself. None of it seemed to help, and I began to worry that he would injure his still barely healing body with this . . . tempest of weeping.

"Anakin," I murmured, threading my fingers through his hair, damp where my own tears had soaked into it and clinging to my fingers, "Anakin, look at me."

He shook his head desperately and buried his face deeper in the folds of my tunics. The childish gesture twisted my heart up in knots. I pressed lightly on his shoulders, trying to get his attention. "Anakin," I repeated. "Look at me." My own voice was hoarse with the sobs his pain had wrenched from my lips, and my throat was raw and aching from one bout of tears already.

His obedience was another miracle in the long string I'd experienced that day, but he sniffed and blinked and raised his head so that swollen, red-rimmed blue eyes met mine. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he mumbled. "I—I hurt you—" His eyes filled again but he blinked the tears back. "I _wanted_ to hurt you." And the horror in his voice was absolute.

The fact that there was horror in his voice at all was yet another miracle, as far as I was concerned. "Enough," I told him, lifting one hand from his back and rubbing my thumb over his cheeks to wipe away the tracks of tears. "It is done, Anakin."

He shook his head, misery written plainly on his face. "It will never be d-done, M-Master," he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. "I will kill them forever—I will hurt you forever—I-I will hurt P-Padmé forever." His voice broke. "Look—you're crying, Master—"

I braced my fingers on his face and rested my forehead against his. "Out of _love_, Anakin. Not out of sorrow." _Not anymore._

"I—I don't deserve that," he said in a shattered voice.

I gave him a loose hug with the arm resting around his shoulders. "I don't care," I told him fiercely.

For a moment his eyes slipped closed, and he leaned into my encircling arm—

And then they snapped open again, and he pushed me away with the arm that had been around my neck and straightened up, almost falling off the bed in the process but somehow managing to catch himself in time. "No!" he said wildly. "No, Master, it isn't _right_!"

I blinked. "Anakin?"

"You should—hate me!" he burst out, rubbing his hand across his face as more tears trickled out of his eyes. He wavered and barely caught himself on the bed before he fell. "You should want to . . . kill me, to . . . hurt me, like I h-hurt y-you." He moaned a little. "_Please_, Master." His eyes were desperate and unseeing and blank when they focused on my face. "Please, I don't want to—"

I couldn't let him finish that sentence. Instead I dragged him back into my arms, tightening my grip on him so tightly on his shoulders and waist that he gave a small gasp of discomfort. "Don't say that, Anakin," I begged. "Please. Please don't talk like that."

"But I—I never want to hurt you—ever again," he whispered into my shoulder, "and I-I _will_, I know I will—I'll hurt you—and I'll hurt Padmé and—please, Obi-Wan, don't let me hurt her, don't let me ever hurt her—"

"Anakin," I said through the lump tightening my throat, "stop this. This isn't helping you."

But whether he was too lost in despair to hear me or just wasn't listening, he kept talking, almost babbling now, hysteria plain in his voice. "And he'll find me—I know he will; he'll never let me leave him—and I'll fall—I can never escape, Master, never—"

"Anakin!" I said desperately, truly frightened now. I reached out with the Force, trying to send him calming, soothing energy through the current between us that our training bond had evolved into, but it slammed up against the mind-blurring drugs that dulled his connection to the Force and slipped off the wall his inconsolable anguish had built beneath them.

The door swished open and Shian stepped inside, and relief sweep through me in a rush that left me weak and shaking. "Shian," I gasped out. "Help me."

She took one look at the situation and quickly crossed over to my side. She rested her hand on Anakin's shoulder and he didn't react, except that his words started breaking down into sobs all over again. "He's hysterical, isn't he?" she said softly, running her hand gently through Anakin's hair as she brushed it away from his face. He turned into her touch slightly, still crying, but showed no other indication of realizing she was even in the room, and she sighed. "I can sedate him, if it's all right. It might be the only way we can quiet him at this point. He'll hurt himself if he keeps this up much longer."

I shook him a little again, trying to get him to really look at me. "Anakin," I said firmly. "Anakin, would that be all right?"

He looked at me blearily as if he still didn't really see me. "W-what, Obi-Wan?" he said distantly.

"If Healer Risto gave you a sedative, to help you sleep," I said, and brushed his mind gently with the Force. _Please, Anakin, please, you need to rest._

I had no idea if the message reached him or not, but he sagged against me and gasped out, "Please," in a wavering, desperate voice, then squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away.

Shian's mouth compressed into the thin, tight line that meant she was displeased, but she got up and picked up a hypo from the table of basic medical instruments that was attached the bed beneath the computer consoles that monitored all of Anakin's vital signs. "Give me his arm," she said, and I tugged his arm down from around my neck and rolled his shoulder until the vulnerable skin at the inside of his elbow was facing up, tightening my grip on him with the other hand. Shian laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder to steady him further and laid the hypo against his arm. One press and the drug was injected into his bloodstream.

It didn't take long. Anakin flinched and gasped, then, slowly, his tears eased and his breaths deepened from quick, shallow pants to the measured breathing of sleep, and he finally collapsed, limp, against my chest. I steadied him before he could slide off. "Thank you," I said.

She shook her head and tightened her hand on Anakin's shoulder. "I'll take him," she said, "and you won't thank me once you know why I came to get you."

"Oh?" I knew what was coming, and I suddenly felt too tired for it.

Her next words confirmed my guess. "Master Yoda would appreciate your help in dealing with one Commander Aerdin Onasi." She gave me a weary grin. "And you know that when a Jedi Master says they'd appreciate something it means 'get your behind down here, youngling.'"

I couldn't help a smile in return, even if it was half-hearted. "Very well," I said. "Take care of Anakin for me, please."

"Always, Obi-Wan," she said. "For you."

I could feel my cheeks flush deep red, and I escaped from the room as fast as I could to prevent any further embarrassment.

My heart had lurched oddly at those words.

I pressed my hand against my too-hot face and hoped I wasn't coming down with something.

I could hear Yoda's low, gravelly voice before I entered the room. Out of curiosity and a desire to erase the lingering vestiges of embarrassment before I went inside, I stopped just outside the door.

"A cowardly—" thump "—dishonorable—" thump "—unworthy—" thump "action it was, Onasi." Yoda sounded as angry as I had ever heard him. "Agreed, we had, that your plan was not to be used."

I keyed open the door, feeling unaccountably satisfied. Yoda's irritation made the room seem to buzz slightly with energy. Onasi stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed belligerently across his chest and a sullen look on his face. Or was that his normal expression? I had ceased to care.

"You called for me, Master Yoda?" I said. I didn't look at Onasi. I was afraid I might lose control again if I met that self-satisfied blue gaze and remembered what he had done to Anakin.

Yoda ignored me and jabbed his gimer stick forward, banging it against Onasi's legs with a loud _whack_ that made the commander flinch visibly. "Fragile, young Skywalker is. Appreciated your interference is _not_."

Onasi's face was set, his jaw working. "I don't see what other chance we have, Master Yoda," he replied. "We are in a desperate tactical position, outnumbered and outgunned, and our options are getting narrower all the time. Why _not_ use the weapon of the enemy against him? Vader is no great loss, but even if he were we cannot afford to be sentimental. We need every advantage we can possibly acquire."

He was looking at Yoda, but I had a feeling he was addressing his words to me. I could feel the fury rising within me again, but this time I was prepared for it and took a deep breath, letting it flood through me and then ebb away.

Yoda gave me an approving glance, almost as if he were surprised, then turned back to Onasi and thumped him again. _I don't envy him the bruises he'll have tomorrow morning, _I thought before I could stop myself. "A tactical advantage only, Skywalker is not, Commander," Yoda said shortly. _Thump_. "Enough of being used as a tool, he has had."

I was surprised to hear Yoda's words echoing my earlier thoughts so exactly. With a tight, tiny smile, Yoda turned away from Onasi and back to me. "Master Obi-Wan," he said. "Glad to see you, I am."

"Thank you, Master Yoda," I said. "I see you have heard of Commander Onasi's . . . deeds." I swallowed hard and tried to focus on the moment, not on the ache in my heart that my time with Anakin had left there.

Yoda thumped his cane firmly against the floor. "Heard, I have," he said. "Young Skywalker—how is he?"

I sighed. "He understands what he has done, Master. He is sedated now. Shian—I—I mean, Healer Risto—is attending to his new injuries." I could feel myself flush at the slip, but no one else seemed to notice.

What was _wrong_ with me?

Yoda's ears perked up, but all he said was, "Ah." He folded his hands on his cane and looked up into the air. _Need you, we do, old friend._ I could hear his voice echo around the room.

_You called? _Qui-Gon's voice was full of amusement, and I could feel my mouth fall open in shock at the sound of it, still unaccustomed to hearing the voice of my old master again after all this time. Qui-Gon chuckled. _Close your mouth, my Obi-Wan, unless you are waiting until a tiera-flea jumps in._

I closed it obediently and couldn't keep back a smile. _Yes, Master._ It was the first time I had reached out to the Force in a deliberate and conscious attempt to communicate with him.

I could _feel_ his answering smile. _Well done, Obi-Wan. I see Master Yoda's meditations with you have paid off. I always knew you would be able to do it._ There was the feeling of a warm, solid hand resting on my shoulder, and I almost jumped. _You wish me to speak with the young one, I presume? _Qui-Gon's ghostly voice continued, and I reflected, smiling, that apparently I wasn't the young one anymore. _Not so fast, my old apprentice,_ Qui-Gon's voice replied quickly. _You will always be a young one to me._

I smiled again, a great weight from my heart seeming to lift as my lips curved into a wide grin. Between Shian and my master, I was doing a lot more smiling than I had ever expected to again, even after my experience with Anakin and the ache it had left in my heart.

_Your counsel, he will need,_ Yoda added.

There was a moment of silence, and then, _Ah, yes, I see._ Qui-Gon's voice now sounded grave, stern. Worried. _I will do what I can for him._

And with that, the extra presence in the room dissipated as quickly and abruptly as it had come.

Onasi was staring at us with a look of deep-seated annoyance on his face. "What the _kriff _was that all about?" he demanded as soon as we turned back toward him.

"Jedi business, it was, Commander," Yoda replied. "Do something about young Skywalker's condition, we must."

"His condition?" Onasi burst out, and then looked away, the muscles clenching in his jaw. "You're worried about that murderer's condition?"

"A condition that you helped put him in," I broke in, unable to keep myself quiet any longer. "You saw him, Commander, saw the state he was in. He is _destroyed_, and you had to torment him further?"

Onasi turned back to look at me, and his fiery blue gaze burned into mine. "I don't care how he cries for you, Kenobi. That man is a murderer. He slaughtered helpless innocents; he took his blade to the children of your Order, and you can forgive him for that? What is wrong with you, General? Do you not mourn the loss of blameless lives?"

I didn't look away. "To forgive is to be Jedi," I answered. "He may have done . . . terrible things, but he is my best friend, my brother-in-arms. I will not condemn him." _I don't even know if I can, Jedi or not._

"I don't understand you, Kenobi," Onasi murmured.

"The feeling is entirely mutual, Commander," I bit back.

"Enough!" Yoda's pebbly voice rang out through the room. "Time for this, we have not. Onasi, wrong you have done. Accept it, you must. Obi-Wan, provoking Commander Onasi, help us does not." He sighed. "Clear it is now, that Sidious his Sith apprentice will find. Track this through the Force he will not fail to do."

I took a deep breath as anger swelled within me again. So Onasi had carried out his plan after all. Anakin, in his agony and pain, had been used to lay a trap for Sidious.

Who did Onasi think he was? Yoda himself had failed to defeat Sidious. Did Onasi think he could succeed where the greatest Master of our Order had failed?

I closed my eyes for a moment. _Focus, Kenobi._ As I had told Anakin, it was done.

"Ready, we must be," Yoda continued. "Allies you must be. Cooperate, you must." Yoda met my gaze directly. "Much in common, you two have."

_Much in common?_ I thought. With _a petty bully who attacks wounded men? I have something in common with an extremist who sees Anakin as a pawn in his strategic game to capture Sidious? _I was deeply offended at Yoda's words, but I glanced at Yoda and caught the faint shake of his head.

Very well. _Focus, Obi-Wan,_ I told myself. _Open yourself to the possibility._ That was what I had been trained to do—it seemed like light-years ago. Wait. Think. _What _do _we have in common?_

To my utter shock, Onasi was one step ahead of me. "You are a brilliant General, sir," Onasi said as if he wanted to give me a grudging salute. "I acknowledged to Master Yoda how much I admire your strategic mind and your dedication to the Jedi code. I admit I do not understand the Jedi code, but I admire your devotion, your honor, as a fellow warrior, your courage in battle. What I cannot admire is your stubborn loyalty to a lost cause—this defense of a Sith lord who has, with his Emperor, destroyed the totality of my life—of _your_ life—in the space of a few days."

_Focus on what we have in common,_ I reminded myself. _They call you "the Negotiator," after all._ I restrained myself from replying that if it had been my choice, the title of warrior would never have been mine. "I understand that you are a good soldier, Onasi, and you fought well in the wars, though your duty was nothing but the defense of Telos. I can respect that." I blew my breath out impatiently. "But what I cannot understand is—" _is your callous cruelty and needless brutality to a young man barely recovering from the most horrific experience of his life and injuries of life-altering seriousness_—"is this stubborn determination to give up on a brilliant warrior who might yet prove to be our greatest weapon against the very master on whose orders he did those things."

Onasi snorted. "You hope in vain, Kenobi. Skywalker's usefulness as a weapon has been destroyed. I have _seen_ men after they have committed such crimes. They do not recover. They are never the same. He will be either racked with so much guilt that he will be a haunted shell of a human, or he will become so embittered that he will be ruthless and cold. Those are his options. I don't hold out much faith in his mental stability either way. Anyone who could commit crimes such as those has obvious psychotic tendencies." His gaze softened a little. "You have lost your friend and comrade, General Kenobi, and I pity you. But we must go on. Our duty is to the Republic, and there is still a chance we might reclaim it from the Empire if we work together."

I took a deep breath. It was possible that he might be right. Anakin was certainly . . . damaged enough that I feared both scenarios Onasi had outlined.

But I was here with him this time. Anakin would _not_ fall again. Anakin would not become haunted and hollow, an empty shell. Anakin would not become embittered and hard. I was here this time, and I was _not_ going to let that happen. I met his eyes. ""I am willing to fight for the Republic, Commander, but not at the cost of Anakin Skywalker." _It has demanded too much already from us both._

I could see the rebellion in Onasi's eyes. He swallowed hard and looked away. "You are my commanding officer, by virtue of both rank and experience, General Kenobi. I will obey your orders." He took a deep breath. "I am sorry for my betrayal. It—it was wrong of me. I will not lay another hand on—on—" he took another deep breath, and I could see his throat constrict as he swallowed "—on your friend. My emotions got the better of me, and I apologize."

"It is Anakin who needs your apology," I replied fiercely.

He still wasn't meeting my eyes. "And I will be willing to make that apology, sir."

I felt my shoulders relax and realized belatedly that I hadn't even known my muscles were so tense. "Well," I said in surprise. "Good."

Perhaps we _were_ getting somewhere, after all.

The door swished shut behind Onasi, and I turned to follow him, but Yoda's voice stopped me. "Wait, Master Obi-Wan," he said, and I turned back in vague surprise.

"Yes, Master?" I asked. "What is it?"

"Well you did in dealing with Onasi." His wrinkled face softened. "Proud I am of you."

I blinked, feeling a warm, pleasant sort of shock spread through me. "I—I—thank you, Master Yoda."

He sighed. "I know that hard for you, this is. Close to Anakin, you are."

I swallowed hard and dropped to one knee so it was easier to look into his face. "I'm sorry, Master, and I know I've have broken the Code in feeling . . . for Anakin, but I—do care about him. I understand that attachment is against—"

"No!" Yoda said firmly, thumping his stick against the floor again, and I broke off and stared at him in shock.

"N-no?" I repeated.

"Wrong we were," he said. "For Anakin, no attachments the right path was not. Always in Master-Padawan bonds, attachment there was. Much to each other, you are. Deny that, you should not. Connections—wrong, they are not. Emotions—wrong they are not. Wrong only to let them control you, to dictate your actions." He sighed again, and looked down at the floor. "Wrong we were," he repeated softly.

I could only stare at him in shock. To hear Master Yoda himself denounce part of the Jedi Code so vehemently, no matter if I had voiced those thoughts in my own mind, was like a blast of cold water to my face, one that left me dripping and stunned. "Master," I started, "I—"

Yoda poked me gently with his gimer stick. "Know this already you do, Obi-Wan. Your bond with Qui-Gon—right, it was. Blessed by the Force. A caring person, you are. Natural, it was, that you would bond with your apprentice." He folded his hands over the cane again and leaned on it where it rested against the floor. "What of young Anakin's condition can you tell me?"

I hesitated, once again dizzied by the twists and turns of a conversation with Master Yoda and struggling to get my thoughts in order. "He—he was very upset," I finally began, feeling my way around the words as I tried to find the right ones to express what I knew in my heart. "Hysterical." I squeezed my eyes shut as pain welled up within me all over again at the memories. "He couldn't believe that I would forgive him. He asked me to—he seemed to want me to—punish him, almost as if he wanted for it to have ended on Mustafar." I took a deep breath and opened my eyes once more. "I . . . fear for him, Master Yoda. I fear that his guilt and grief will prove too much for him."

Yoda's eyes were old and sad. "Difficult times, we face. Wounded, he has been—deep soul-wounds all of us have suffered. For you, too, Obi-Wan, I worry." He peered up anxiously into my face. "How feel you? Hurting you were, earlier."

"Better," I hastened to assure him. "I feel much better, Master."

He nodded in that way he had when he wasn't entirely convinced of something but had chosen to accept it for the moment. "Glad I am, that friends you have here," he said. "And how feel you? Physically? Afraid you would collapse, I was. Afraid, too much asked of you, I had."

"No, Master," I said hurriedly. "You should not have worried. I was prepared to fulfill my duty. And I have rested now. I am well." I hesitated—but Yoda was old, so very old, and this experience had been—had been—well. I had not the words. "How are you?"

Yoda smiled. "As I said, a caring person are you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Well enough, I am." He frowned, and his face seemed to collapse into a mass of wrinkles, his mood shifting all at once. "Sidious here will track us."

I nodded. "Onasi—" I still couldn't keep myself spitting out the word as if it left a bad taste in my mouth "—has made certain of that."

"Bitterness, help you will not," Yoda said gently. "Focused on the task at hand, we must stay. Leave this place soon, we must."

"But—how can we, when Anakin is so weak?" I asked worriedly. "And Padmé, too—"

Yoda's face was grim. "Rather risk it, I would, than risk being here when Sidious arrives."

I looked at the weary bleakness on his face and swallowed hard. "I agree," I said.

I was returning to Anakin's room with the vague idea that I would check up on him, ask Shian how he was doing and how soon she thought he could safely be moved, when something—the Force, I supposed, though it wasn't often that the Living Force prompted me in such a way; perhaps it was the influence of Qui-Gon's spirit—moved me to stop at the intersection of two corridors, where there was an alcove furnished with several benches set back in the wall, and look inside.

I was surprised, to say the least, to see Aerdin Onasi sitting on one of the benches, shoulders slumped and rigid military posture entirely abandoned, the palms of his hands pressed flat over his eyes and his fingers digging into his hair, disordering the dark strands so they fell forward into his eyes. My jaw tightened at the sight of him, and I was about to turn away and move on when it occurred to me that his shoulders were shaking, almost as if—

Was the oh-so-controlled military commander _crying_?

I took several steps into the small alcove. "Commander?" I said.

He stiffened, and his head flew up. His face was mottled and flushed as if he _had_ been crying, and his eyes, wild where they locked with mine, looked suspiciously wet. "Kenobi," he said, his voice brittle and taut. There was a moment of silence as we both eyed each other in shock, and then he took a deep, shaking breath. "Please excuse me."

"Of course," I said, and for the first time with him my courtesy was completely sincere.

Onasi sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hand, scrubbing it roughly over his face. "I'm sorry for acting like this in your presence, sir."

"It is not a problem," I replied, and, feeling uncomfortable standing over him, I sought a seat on the bench opposite. "Is—something wrong?" I ventured after another moment of tense silence.

Onasi gave a wrenching, scornful laugh and brought his head up. "Yes, Kenobi," he said acerbically. "Something's wrong." His voice sounded much like Anakin's had—tight, on the thin line between despair and hysteria. I could see his hand clench into a fist beside him, and then he relaxed his fingers, pressing them flat against the cool surface of the bench, grabbing onto the edge so hard his fingers turned livid white with the pressure. "Have you ever been to Telos?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes," I answered, puzzled by the question. "Once, on a mission with my own Master. It was years ago. I haven't been back since."

Suddenly his intense blue eyes were burning into me again. "Ah, yes," he said. "I remember now. It was Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi who helped to remove Xanatos deCrion from power." He shook his head. "I wonder that I did not recognize that name before. You are a hero to my people, you know, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

I did not know quite what to make of this conversation. "I—I was only glad to be of service," I said.

He looked away. "I'm sure you were." He sighed, and for a moment I thought he was looking at something very far away indeed. "Do you remember what it was like there, Kenobi?" he asked. His voice was distant.

I hesitated. "Telos is . . . a lovely world. Your people are very proud of their natural parks and resources, if I remember correctly."

Onasi's gaze was still far away. "My world is beautiful," he said. "I still remember when I was a child, and Grandfather would stand outside with me and watch the sunrise, before anyone else got up; how the far blue hills would first light with the bright gilding of the sun and it would slowly spread across the sky—I can still remember the patterns of the stars in the night sky and the feeling of the traditional dresses my mother wore under my fingers and my brother's bright laughter as he played in the water of the river." He gave another bitter laugh. "My people," he said. "My people, General? Do you _know_ what will happen to my people now?" He took a shuddering breath. "They will be destroyed. After Xanatos was ousted, the people of Telos became determined to resist any such diabolical influence with everything they had, should it ever again occur. My people will _fight_ this Empire, General Kenobi. They will fight, and they will die, and they will be broken beneath the Emperor's iron fist, and I will be helpless to prevent it."

"Commander," I said, "be realistic. The Empire has only just gained power. It may not yet come to that."

"It will," Onasi said. His hand clenched back into a fist. "It will." His head swung back around and his eyes locked with mine. They were burning with that bright, feverish light that had so unsettled me once before. "I have seen it," he whispered. "In my dreams. My parents told me that I had your _Force_, that the Jedi came for me when I was a child, but that they could not bear to give me up. And I have seen it—ruin, and destruction, and fire raining from the sky, my homeworld turned to ashes. I have _seen_ it, Kenobi! All my life I have fought against these visions. And now I have failed." There was true anguish in his tone. "It was all for nothing. I have failed, and my visions will come to pass nonetheless. And—Force—Dana, and Lythe, and little Tian—don't you understand, Kenobi? My life is _gone_. I must kill Palpatine, I must destroy the Empire, or I will have failed my people!" As I watched, a tear escaped from his eye and trickled down his cheek and he swiped it angrily away

"Please, Commander," I said. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" he ground out. "Calm _down_? Don't you understand, Kenobi? I have lost everything! I swore I'd protect them—would you make me twice a liar? He killed my _brother_, Kenobi, do you expect me to let that pass?"

_He nearly destroyed my brother, as well,_ I thought. _He destroyed my family, my life. How do you think I feel?_ But I said nothing. I had nothing to say.

After a moment, Onasi continued, as if now that he had started telling the story he couldn't bear to stop. "My brother was taken for training as a Jedi," he said, his voice distant once more. "He was trained in your Temple. But no Master chose him to train, and so he was shunted into working as a mechanic—an Onasi, working as a lowly _mechanic_?—for the Jedi." I winced mentally, remembering my own long ago fears and the fate I had come so close to. "But he was proud," Onasi continued. "Proud to serve you—and what did he get for that service? Your _friend_ slaughtered him, Kenobi. Just as if he had been one of your precious Order!" He glared up at me, and his eyes were filled with tears. "What did he do to deserve that, Kenobi? Answer me!"

"I can't," I answered quietly. "I have no answer."

"Even you cannot justify it," Onasi bit out, his voice sour and resentful. "And yet you defend him." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "I am sorry, Kenobi. I admit that—" he took a deep, shaking breath "—I admit that physically abusing the boy was wrong. He is in fragile physical condition, and I had no right to take advantage of his weakness in order to torment him. I will apologize, but it will not be for his sake. It will be because I respect both you and Master Yoda." He raised his head and looked me in the eyes. "Can you live with that, Kenobi?"

I sighed. "If you promise that you will do or say nothing further to hurt him—yes, I can live with that."

He gave a short, harsh laugh. "Always the Negotiator," he said.

I got to my feet. "Yes," I said, feeling very tired. "I am."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **You see how awesome I am? Iwas going to wait to post this, but I decided to split it into two chapters instead of the one I was planning just for all my anxious fans. And, by the way--this next chapter could induce diabetic comas in those who dislike sappiness--you have been warned. ;).

Also, I have posted a companion piece to this one called A Certain Point of View, from Shian Risto's POV. I hope you read and enjoy while waiting for those pesky new updates . . . .

**To Mrs. A.Skywalker:** I liked that line myself. I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy it.

**To Quill of Molliemon: **Poor Anakin. I agree about Obi-Wan indeed. He can be very clueless, can't he? I'm glad you feel kinda sorry for Onasi now . . . .

**To Blood Raven1:** Funny you should mention a love triangle. It was definitely in my original plans for this fic. I'm not sure if it will make its way in now or not, though . . . . I'm really glad you like Onasi. At least the poor guy has one fan! And as for Anakin--well, that was the reaction I was going for!

**To KTfanfic: **I'm glad you liked it and thought I did a good job! I liked Yoda too, heh heh.

**To VA-Parky: **Wow, thanks. I'm certainly working hard on it--I want to make it realistic. Thank you so much!

**To FuNnY cIdE:** I'm glad you liked that. I tried to make him a three-dimensional character.

**To Anakin's Girl 4eva: **Well, I suppose that depends on that point of you, but he wasn't going to ask Obi-Wan to give him a hug, that's for sure. Is this soon enough for you?

**To Life's a Dance: **Well, thank you very much, then (blushing madly, I am). I'm really glad you're liking it so much.

**To Alley Parker: **Thanks. That's pretty much all I can ask for.

**To SuperBlonde: **First of all, thank you for leaving such long reviews! Those were exactly the emotions and issuesI wanted to explore, so I'm glad it got you thinking. And crying, I know it's bad of me, but it's such a great compliment to hear that your writing made someone cry that I'm happy to hear it. Sorry ;). Yeah, Onasi might be more human now, but he still has problems, which a good slapping might cure . . . . I'll be glad to give Yoda a pat on the back for you at some point. And I did hurry! You should be thankful!

**To swiftykenobi: **Aww, thanks. I work hard to keep the canon characters in character and to make the OCs believable. I'm glad you're enjoying it!

**To Tandywr: **Hmmm . . . very possible. But I don't know if Anakin would like to talk about that much. Thanks.

**To RavennBeastbo/Arya Shadeslayer: **Wow, thank you!

**To Go For It: **Sorry 'bout that. ;) I couldn't let you go on hating him with impunity forever, though, could I? I love "the Negotiator" as well. And yes, he is getting some warm fuzzy feeling, isn't he?

**To Eruvyweth: **Oh, goodness, now I'm blushing some more. Thanks so much. I love your reviews, they always make me smile. And yes--well, no drama with Ani and Obi in this part, but the next part will make up for it, I hope. And it will be more sane, I promise you that much.

**To Fragile Dreams: **All I can do is blush and struggle to find the words to reply, which elude me. Just--oh my. Thank you so much. Thanks.

**To Bu-sanda: **I'm glad it got you thinking. I'm very much trying to explore those issues, and, in a way, for Anakin so far it's been one step forward, two steps back. I don't want to portray this as being an easy or simple process or situation, in any way. It's far too complicated for that. I think it's easier to forgive Anakin/Vader at the end of RotJ because he's dead, a martyr, he sacrificed himself to save the life of his son, and in the sense that that shows a kind of unconditional love, it is selfless. But now he's still alive, and just as you say, he is a mass-murderer at worst and a war criminal at best, whatever his justifications.

**To tejdog1: **Thanks. I'm glad you like the emotions, since that's what I'm focusing on. And a lot of people have commented on that. I tried to make it clear in the first couple of chapters, but apparently I didn't do as good a job as I thought--in this story, the events on the fiery bank of that river of lava played out a lot differently. For one thing, Anakin only had one leg severed, instead of both legs and his other arm, and so he fell differently. His mechanical arm, that arm, and his back got the worst of the heat, and Obi-Wan put out the flames with the Force before they spread too far. So most of his skin and his hair is still intact, he can still breathe, though he's on a respirator for the first couple of chapters, and he's going to make a fairly full recovery. Sorry if that confused, anyway. His medical condition will be talked about a lot more in the companion piece to this one, A Certain Point of View, which is from Shian Risto's POV.

Disclaimer: You know the drill. The Flanneled One owns all.

**Eighteen**

_This time the presence was like a warm buzzing in the back of his mind, not unpleasant at all, really, but Anakin was getting a little tired of so many visitors. His whole body felt worn out and achy, like he'd done lightsaber drills until he collapsed, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. His head was a fuzzy mass of nothing, and Anakin thought he might have been sleeping for a long time already, but he felt drowsy and limp and wanted nothing more than to get back to it as soon as possible. _

He liked this, almost, this weird haze smothering him in a blanket of dullness. This way there were no dreams as he slept, only a grayed-out blur in his head. This way he didn't have to be afraid of the images that might visit him while he was unconscious, powerless to fight against them.

"Wh-whadd'ya wan'?" he mumbled, not bothering to shift his head. The flat pillow of the medical bed swallowed most of his words, but Anakin thought it would be too much trouble to move and repeat the sentence. He wasn't sure his speech was making much sense at the moment, anyway.

"Nothing too demanding." He recognized that deep voice. Anakin frowned, struggling with the muzziness that seemed to have taken him over. "I'm just here to see how you're doing." A warm hand rested on his shoulder. "Don't be frightened, Ani. I'm an old friend."

Anakin tried to roll his head back this time, he really did. He wanted to see who this was, to see if his instinctive recognition could possibly be right—"M-Master Qui-Gon?" he mumbled, and then, feeling lost and adrift and very, very young, he added, "Sir?"

"Very good, Anakin," the Jedi Master said. He rubbed Anakin's shoulder a little, and Anakin thought blearily that it felt nice. He liked it when people touched him, especially when he was all blurry like this. It helped remind him that they were there. Usually he could feel the people around him without having to touch them, but he was too fuzzy and unfocused to feel much of anything at the moment. "Very good. Yes, it's me."

Somehow it didn't seem odd to be conversing with someone who had died nearly thirteen years ago. Instead it felt natural, as if Qui-Gon was meant to be there talking to him and there was nothing off about it at all. Anakin felt as if maybe it should bother him, but it didn't. Instead, it felt . . . right.

"Tha's nice . . . ." Anakin said into the pillow. He thought Qui-Gon might have been here, with him, before, and that was why it didn't feel strange to be talking to him, might have steadied him when he was afraid and calmed him when he wanted to lash out and helped him put things that hurt a lot back together . . . . "You w're here earl'r," he added, vaguely proud of himself for remembering. "Y' . . . fixed me . . . 'nside."

Qui-Gon's voice was pleased. "Oh, so you remember?" His large hand settled on the back of Anakin's head. "I didn't think you would. And you did the fixing, young one; I just aided you a bit along the way."

"Th'nks," Anakin told him. He thought it needed to be said, and it really was a relief to be able to breathe without his breath catching and dragging and hurting. "'preciate it."

"It was certainly no trouble," Qui-Gon said. His voice was slightly amused. "It's not as if I have much to do these days."

Anakin accepted that easily enough. He didn't think someone who was dead would have much to do.

Qui-Gon continued in a more serious tone. "How are you feeling, then?"

Anakin blinked and stared down at the pillow beneath his head. He couldn't quite make it come into focus. He had the feeling that was bad. "No' so good, I guess," he mumbled. "I thin' 'm still . . . brok'n, Mas'er. I—f-feel like a speeder wi' a bad stab'lizer. I—I mean—inside. _No' . . . body . . . but . . . heart." He blinked blearily up at the blue glow above him. "Does tha' make any s-sense?" _

Qui-Gon patted him gently on the shoulder. "Very good sense, Anakin. To tell you the truth, I'd be much more worried if you didn't _feel that way. Feeling the guilt and pain that you do shows that you're still a good man—still, in some ways, the boy I knew." _

Anakin bit his lip, trying to make sense of what Qui-Gon was saying, but the words didn't seem to want to float together into a format that made sense to his confused mind. One word resonated, though, one word dredged up something dark and terrible and aching inside him. Guilt—guilty of something terrible—yes, guilty of deeds that made his heart hurt and bleed when he thought about them, that had torn him apart even as he'd reveled in them.

Deeds that made him feel shattered, so badly broken Anakin didn't think he could ever be entirely put back together, like one of the wrecked Podracers he'd found long ago on the Tatooine flats.

But again the dull haze saved him, this time from having to think about what he'd done or feel the tearing burden of his actions. Instead being caught by the dragon shredding his heart with its claws, Anakin's mind slipped easily away from those thoughts and reaching teeth and grasping talons and ice cold scales, back into gray darkness where nothing mattered.

He thought he liked it there better. Feeling so much all the time . . . hurt _a lot, these days. _

"Anakin." Qui-Gon's voice was still gentle, but now it had an underlying sternness. "I can understand, but will running like this really help you?"

Running . . . was that what he was doing? Anakin shook his head against the pillow. "Hurts . . . ." he protested.

"I know," Qui-Gon said softly. "I know. But how will the wound heal if you never acknowledge the pain? Cutting yourself off from your wounds is no better than wallowing in the pain of them."

"I—" Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, torn. He felt lost, so lost; he didn't know which way to turn and his head hurt too much to think about it. "Tell me wha' I shoul' d-do, Master," he begged.

He both heard and felt Qui-Gon's sigh in the air around him. "You should trust, young one. Trust the Force. Trust those who care for you, and would never have willingly hurt you. Trust that the light isn't done with you yet. You can still heal."

That callused hand rested on his forehead for a moment more in a gentle benediction, and then Anakin was asleep again.

"You think we need to get going soon?" Padmé repeated, looking up into my face with a slight crease of confusion between her brows.

I sighed and nodded. "Yes, Master Yoda and I have come to that decision."

The little Jedi Master hobbled further into the room. "Fear we do that Anakin's pain and suffering Sidious will track. A hold on young Skywalker the Dark Lord still has. Risk him finding us here, we cannot."

Padmé's eyes widened. She took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her swollen belly in a protective gesture. "Sidious?" she whispered. "Palpatine? He'll want the children, won't he? He won't be content with just twisting my Anakin to serve him."

The fear in her eyes made me ache. "I'm afraid he will want the babies," I told her tiredly. "Your children . . . Anakin's children . . . would be a powerful asset to him."

She closed her eyes for a moment as if in agony and took a few more deep, shaking breaths, pressing her other hand against her mouth, and I moved forward to comfort her—but after a moment, she opened her eyes again and was the cool, collected Senator, her emotions firmly under control. "How is Anakin, then?" she said. "Is he well enough to be moved?"

"Healer Risto tells me that she'd prefer to wait until he's been equipped with prosthetics," I replied. "She assures me that she will speed up the process and try to get Anakin into surgery tomorrow."

Padmé nodded in acceptance, but her eyes never left my face. "But how is he?" she pressed. "Can I see him? How is he doing?"

Yoda looked up at me, his wrinkled face drawing my gaze. "Together, they should be allowed," he said. "Need her, Anakin does."

I couldn't help but agree, but I was shocked to hear the sentiment from Yoda's lips. I looked back over at Padmé. "He is doing . . . better," I told her, choosing my words carefully. "Both better and worse. He is in agony over what he has done. But he knows that it was wrong." I sighed and brought up a hand to rub it over my face. "I fear for him," I told her, too tired and heartsick to be anything but blunt any longer. "He seems so . . . lost."

Padmé's face set with the strength and determination I remembered from her days as a young queen. "Take me to him," she said.

Yoda nodded. "Take you to him, we will," he replied.

_The healer finished with the bandages she'd been applying to his back, pressing the edge of the last one against the intact flesh of his shoulder until the bandage adhered to it and clung there. Anakin lay still on the bed and tried not to move or think or do anything much but breathe. _

"Well, you're doing a lot better, hero," Healer Risto said in a cheerful tone. Anakin gave a slight, tired smile in response, a simple upward quirk of one side of his mouth. He didn't feel as if he were doing a lot better and he didn't feel much like a hero, but the healer who took care of him so carefully deserved a few illusions about him. She'd come in after the medical droids had finished applying the first coat of sterile bandages to his injuries and done the rest herself, and Anakin had to admit he had been pathetically grateful for the touch of soft skin against his instead of cold, hard metal, impersonal and unforgiving. He didn't think he deserved a healer so conscientious and thoughtful, but he wasn't going to complain. Not when he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open, and that was when he was feeling better than average.

Healer Risto brushed his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers. "I'm glad," she said. "So look, don't you give up on me, all right?"

Anakin blinked confusedly up at her, not entirely certain why she cared, but he could feel his smile get a little bigger. "I'll . . . try," he said, and his voice was soft and thready and didn't sound anything like himself. The thought that Obi-Wan would have given him a lecture about trying and doing if he had heard him say that flitted through his mind.

The thought hurt, but not as much as he'd expected it to. At least there was hope. At least Obi-Wan didn't hate him. It confused him and he didn't understand and sometimes he thought it might hurt less if Obi-Wan raged at him and wanted to hurt him, but at the same time it was a comfort, something he could lean on when he was weak and tired—and he was so very much of both right now.

Healer Risto patted him gently on the cheek and took her hand away as she moved to stand up. "There's someone who'd like to see you," she said. "Do you mind?"

Someone? Who? Obi-Wan? As long as it wasn't the cruel man with the blue eyes. Anakin never wanted to see him again. "No," he said. "It's a'right."

The healer nodded and then she was gone, leaving Anakin alone to stare at the endless white of the sheets beneath his head and wonder blearily who it was who wanted to talk to him. His head hurt, and he couldn't manage much thought, but he still wondered.

He felt her as soon as she entered the room, and the thrilling tingle of her familiar presence brought his head up and around, scanning the room until his eyes found her. He drank in the sight of her, even though she was pale and worn and tired-looking still. She was beautiful, so beautiful that it hurt his heart. "P-Padmé?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe his eyes. She had come back to him? Even after his foolish assumptions and brutal accusations—even after what he had done to her? She had come back to him, not once, but twice?

She wasn't going to leave him?

And then she was there, right there by his side, cradling his head in her hands. "Anakin," she said, her voice choked and faltering, and she bent her head and pressed her lips to his.

Anakin gave a broken, sobbing breath and leaned into the kiss, feeling as if with the touch of her lips to his, forgiving and warm and petal-soft, life had flooded back into him, her touch alone pulling him out of the gray nothingness where he had been drifting. In that moment, he didn't care about anything except that she was warm and breathing and there_, and that he could taste her, feel her breath on his lips, smell the scent of her hair. He reached up with his good arm to bury his fingers in her hair, splaying his hand against the back of her neck and pulling her close to him. Her curling hair was a little rough with neglect but still as soft as silk beneath his hand, and Anakin clenched his hand into a fist at her neck, catching her hair between his fingers and deepening the kiss until he was panting so hard for breath he literally didn't have the strength to continue. _

"Oh, Padmé," he whispered, pulling away only to press his cheek against hers. He noticed that her cheeks were wet and wondered which of them was crying. "Oh, Padmé."

Her arms went around him, one winding around his neck and the other encircling his waist. "I know, Anakin," she whispered.

He stared into her face in pure, awestruck love. "You came t' visit me," he whispered wonderingly. "Y-you're really here? Not jus' another d-dream . . . ?" He wouldn't have asked, but for the lingering, soul-searing doubt, the cold, trembling fear that—how could she still love him? How in all nine hells could she still be here with him? He knew how complete and strong Padmé's convictions were, how beautiful and good her spirit, and he could hardly believe that this Padmé who held him and kissed him and offered him warmth and love and forgiveness was real instead of merely a figment of his desperate, fevered imagination.

Her arms tightened around him. "Yes, yes, I'm here, my love," she said quickly. "It's real; I'm here with you."

Anakin's whole body went weak with relief, and he let his head sink down to rest on Padmé's shoulder as he started to shake. "Thank the Force," he murmured helplessly, turning his head into the curve of her neck and simply inhaling the sweet, familiar scent that was Padmé's. "Thank the Force."

Her fingers stroked gently through his hair. "Did you think I could stay away?" she asked softly.

Anakin just pressed himself closer, tightening his arm around her, so achingly grateful to feel her in his arms that he could barely breathe. He didn't want to tell her how he'd feared that she would never again look on him with anything but disgust in her eyes, that he'd never hold her in his arms again, never again touch her hair or kiss her lips or lay his hand on her stomach and feel the life they'd created together in her softly swollen belly. And he didn't deserve it. From no point of view did he deserve the incredible gift of her love, he never had, and now he deserved it less than ever.

But she must have felt his desperation in the clasp of his arm around her, for she rubbed his shoulders and back before returning her hand to his head to tangle in his hair. She brought his head up with that hold on his hair so that she could stare into his eyes, and Anakin didn't resist.

"I'm so sorry, angel," he mumbled, hardly even able to look her in the face.

"You, love," she said gently, her voice both sad and loving, "are a mess." Her other hand was rubbing his back now.

Anakin nodded. "I—you shoul' leave me," he admitted, his voice breaking helplessly halfway through the sentence. He could barely force the words out of his mouth, and he thought his heart shattered a little bit more than it already had to hear his own voice saying that. "'m not worth 't."

Padmé's arms tightened so hard it hurt, just like Obi-Wan's had when he'd started to ask the older man to punish him. "No_, Anakin," she said. "No, you can't believe that. Never believe that." _

"But—" he was still struggling to get the words out. "But—how c'n you still l-love me? It's—" his voice wavered out of control "—it's all right if y' don' want t' be w'th me anymore. I won' hurt you if wan' t' go."

Padmé stroked her fingers through his hair, tugging softly on the curls, kissing his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. "Don't worry about things like that, Anakin," she whispered. "I'll always love you, no matter what." She pulled away and braced her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her straight in the eyes. "And if you ever say anything like that again, I'm going to have to get a little rough with you."

Anakin smiled at that and ducked his eyes again. "Wouldn't mind," he told her through the lump in his throat, feeling a little bit of his old spark return. "No' much of a punishment, my love."

She shrugged and pulled him close again, pressing a kiss to his temple. "That's the Anakin I remember," she told him softly. "And it's as much of a punishment as I ever want to give you."

Anakin felt his throat close up. "Thank you, angel," he whispered. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve any of this, but thank you.

_She pulled his head up and kissed him again. Anakin lost himself in her presence and the taste of her lips, and for a few brief moments, he was happy._


	19. Chapter 19

So, here we go again. I am planning to private message you all at some point to thank you for your kind reviews, but I don't have much time at the moment. And this chapter is for Eruvyweth and AnakinsGirl4eva and all the others who have been waiting for Ani and Obi interaction. And Merry Christmas to all!

**Disclaimer: **Guess what? They're not mine, and neither is any cash, from this or anything else.

**Nineteen**

I was so lost in my own troubled thoughts that I was halfway into the medical room before I registered the sight of Anakin and Padmé. He lay with his right side propped half against the computer consoles keeping track of his vital signs, half against Padmé, his chin resting against her forehead and his left hand against the curve of her stomach. Her fingers, supported his head, tangled in his tousled curls, and her other hand was clasped over his on her belly so their fingers intertwined. I backed away quickly and unobtrusively to give them a few more moments together before I interrupted.

"Are you all right?" Anakin murmured, his voice soft and slurred but still hoarse with desperation. Thanks to Padmé's revelation about his visions I knew now from whence that tormented urgency stemmed, and I winced. How I wished he had trusted me enough and come to me for aid rather than letting his nightmares drive him right into Palpatine's grasp.

Padmé nodded in response, and her hold on his hand tightened. "I'm fine, my love."

He brushed his palm over her rounded stomach. "An' y're feeling okay? The baby s'all right?"

"Yes," Padmé replied. _Baby?_ I thought. _Does he not know she's having twins?_ Well, he had probably not been thinking too clearly when I had mentioned his "children" earlier. "Everything's all right, Anakin," she continued, her quiet voice encouraging. "Healer Risto checks on me every day, and she says everything is fine. Don't you trust her to take care of me?"

Anakin lifted his head to stare down into her face for a long moment, then nodded and sighed as if content with what he saw there. He let his head drop back down and pressed his cheek, bandaged where Onasi's attack had left fresh bruises, against Padmé's hair. "All right, then," he whispered. "Good."

I reached back to push the open button on the door behind me. This time Padmé looked up at the sound of the distinctive _woosh_. She smiled as I cleared my throat, and I didn't think I had fooled her at all with my attempt at tactful subterfuge.

Anakin's head jerked up in genuine surprise, though, and his expression shifted when his gaze fell on me. His features tensed and tightened, and a startled wariness widened his dazed blue eyes. He glanced nervously at Padmé—and then, when she did nothing, only laid a comforting hand against his neck and continued to smile over at me, the tension ebbed out of him, and he smiled tentatively, as if he hardly dared believe that I wasn't repulsed by finding him in an embrace with his wife.

What a sad comment on how distanced the Jedi Order had become, if he believed I would have been.

The hesitant luminosity of his growing smile, however uncertain, made my heart wrench as warmth spread up from somewhere deep in my chest, easing through me slowly as if reviving me after too much time spent in the cold. His smile was still careful and slow, tinged and shadowed by embarrassment, terrible shame, overwhelming guilt, but I had never thought Anakin would look at me with a smile in his eyes ever again, after the Temple. The shadow was still there, but softened by the light.

"O-Obi-Wan?" he said, then flushed and dropped his eyes. "I—I'm sorry. I—" I could tell the words _broke down and cried all over you_ were running through his head.

I shook my head. "There is nothing more to apologize for, Anakin," I said carefully, uncertain with my words but wanting him to know that the last thing I did was reproach him for his earlier tears. "I am proud . . . so very proud . . . that you have—come back to us."

He bit his lip, still not meeting my gaze, and his grip clenched on Padmé's hand as I moved to sit on the bed. He shifted his leg slightly to make room for me and waveringly returned my encouraging smile, but that heightened flush still suffused his features, making him look feverish and unwell. I realized with sad certainty that it would be a long time before things could be truly comfortable between us again. _If we can ever regain what we once had_, one treacherous part of my mind whispered.

I ignored it. That kind of thinking wouldn't get us anywhere, no matter how much I fretted over it.

Padmé ran her hand through Anakin's hair again, straightening up and making sure he was steady as she did so. "It'll be all right, Ani," she whispered. "I promise. Somehow we'll make everything right again."

Anakin nodded dully, then took a long, deep breath, obviously readying himself for a difficult conversation. I had seen him do the same thing many times before we went in to speak with the Council during his days as a Padawan and a junior Knight, and it made the raw places in my heart twist up and ache to think that speaking with me was now accompanied by that same apprehension. "What is 't, Master?" he mumbled.

I reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder and steady him, and was heartened when he didn't flinch away, though he tensed slightly before relaxing again. "Healer Risto is going to be here in a few moments. She wanted to talk to you about your progress and what's going to happen next, how you should take care of yourself. I think it's a good idea."

He just looked at me for one slow moment before he nodded and blew his breath out. "O-okay," he said hesitantly. "You're prob'ly right."

"I'll leave you two to talk, then," Padmé said, pulling away with a slight caress to Anakin's cheek. His head whipped around to look at her, his expression so vulnerable that it gave my already sore heart another pang. Padmé shook her head and reached up to brush a soft kiss across his lips. "I'll be fine, Ani," she whispered. "I'll be back again later, all right?"

Anakin nodded falteringly. "I'll miss you, Padmé." He caught her face to bring her close for another kiss, this one so deep and heated and passionate that I could feel my cheeks growing hot. I averted my eyes.

The kiss seemed to go on for quite some time before I heard Padmé's amused voice, shaking with the effort of holding back laughter. "It's all right, Obi-Wan. You can look now."

I turned back and knew that the embarrassed flush was only slowly ebbing from my face. Padmé's cheeks were even pinker than mine must have been, her lips full and kiss-swollen, and she was smiling brighter than the suns of Tatooine as she squeezed Anakin's hand one last time and disengaged from his embrace. She looked better than she had since we'd arrived.

Anakin let her go unwillingly but tenderly, and his eyes followed her as she made her slow way across the room and out into the hall. I could hear her greet Healer Risto before the door slid closed again. I flushed yet again at the juxtaposition of Healer Risto and kissing in the same thought and was suddenly very glad Anakin wasn't paying much attention.

As soon as she was gone Anakin swayed and nearly collapsed, crumpling in on himself as if his strength had left the room along with her. I caught him just before he fell and moved to support him against my side, sliding one arm around his waist to further steady him. His good arm came up behind my back, his fingers clenching slightly in the cloth of my tunic. He was trembling, I realized, little tremors shaking his entire body.

"Are you all right, Anakin?" I moved my arm up under his shoulders to try to give him more support.

He shrugged bonelessly. "T-tired. S'all right if I lean on you, Master?"

"It's fine," I assured him quietly.

"Good." He relaxed against my side, letting his weight settle into me. "Th'nks."

"It's nothing," I replied, touched by the trusting way he lay against me and let his head drift down to my shoulder. His limp weight was heavy, so I shifted his position again, trying not to press too hard on his bandages.

Anakin sighed, a breathy wisp of sound. "Am I too heavy, M-Master?" he asked. His voice was still slurred and blurry, but a little stronger than it had been.

"Not at all."

"Good," he mumbled again. "Don' wanna be t' heavy." There was a long pause. "Master, I—" his voice wobbled a little "—'m glad . . . y're here."

My vision blurred, and I blinked rapidly to clear it. "I am glad I am here, too," I whispered, and suddenly my voice was broken and shaking. I blinked again and could feel a hot, wet droplet trickle out from under my eyelid and slip soundlessly down my cheek into my beard. "I—" I took another deep breath "—and I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" His muscles tensed and he looked up into my face, his forehead creasing and his eyes big and bruised-looking with pained shame. "Why . . . sorry?" he asked, and I could see in his eyes that somewhere in his confused mind he thought it was because of him.

I had to correct such an erroneous assumption. I indicated his bandaged, damaged body with a nod of my head. "I did all this to you, Anakin." I could hardly even bear to say it. "And I am sorry for it."

"Oh." The tension eased from his muscles. His head returned to its place on my shoulder. "S'okay."

"Okay?" I choked out, unsure whether to be moved by his unexpected forgiveness or horrified at the disregard with which he seemed to treat his own injuries. The anger and defensiveness with which he had first reacted had been, in some ways, easier to bear. "Anakin, how—"

He shook his head. "'s not really a big deal, Mas'er. Thought . . . it was gonna be . . . lot worse." He shivered, and his fingers clenched more tightly in my tunic, his fist burrowing into the fabric. "Though' you were gonna leave me . . . could f-feel the fire, could a'ready see you walking away. S-saw things—darkness lifting me, still burning, things tearing a' me, ripping my s-skin off . . . black t-tomb closing me in. Trapped, b-burning forever. Couldn' b-breathe . . . couldn' feel . . . ." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and I could feel his leftover terror in the way his body was shaking. "Bu' you saved me, Master; didn' leave me . . . leave me there . . . . You saved me." There was a long pause while he took a deep breath. "Thank you."

An icy chill run down my spine at his stumbling words. I knew that he had described a vision of the future that would have been had I not pulled him back from the edge of the river of flame, and I started to shake, too, at how close we had both come. "I will never leave you like that again, Anakin," I said ferociously.

His hand relaxed its tight hold in my tunic, and he smiled. "Tha's nice t' know, Ob'-Wan," he said blurrily. "Thanks."

I took a deep breath. "And—I must apologize again." It hurt to do this, to acknowledge how many mistakes I, too, had made, but it needed to be done, so we could both let go.

He rolled his head back so he could look up at me. "Again, Master?" He smirked a little, bruised mouth quirking slightly. "An' I thought I was th' one who screwed up here."

I shook my head. "We all made mistakes. You certainly did—'screw up.' But I—I should have asked why."

He blinked. He seemed a little bit more aware now, the drug-haze fading from his eyes. "'m not exactly following you, Master," he said. "S'rry."

My hands trembled; I clenched one of them into a fist at his back where I steadied him and forced the other to flatten on my knee. "I—I shouldn't have assumed you did all those things merely in a fit of rage and out of lust for power, Anakin," I told him. It was my voice wavering a little this time. "I know you better than that. I should have known there was something else in the beginning. I just wish—" Now my voice shattered and broke, and I had to swallow hard. "I just wish that you could have trusted me," I finished. "And I should have asked you why. I should have. But—it all hurt too much, and I just—I didn't want to know."

Anakin wasn't looking at me anymore. His gaze was fixed on some point on the cool gray-blue wall. "Then you know," he murmured. "Padmé—did Padmé tell you?"

"Yes," I admitted.

He sighed. "Stupid," he said softly. "I was s-stupid. Should have told you. Padmé . . . wanted to. But I—I was afraid. Y'd turn me into th' Council. Wouldn' respect me 'nymore. Stupid, I guess."

"No, Anakin," I said. My throat was so tight and choked that it was difficult to get the words out. "Not stupid at all. I had given you no reason to trust me in that sort of situation."

His hand came up and squeezed my shoulder. "My friend," he said. "Should have trusted you 'nyway."

I took a sharp breath and had to swallow hard against tears again. Force, they were close to the surface these days. "It is all right, Anakin," I whispered.

He shook his head slightly. "No. Shouldn' have doubted you." He lifted his head a little, and his face was anxious now. "It's really 'kay, Master?" he asked then. "Know I broke th' Code. Married. But I—I love her."

I nodded. "It's fine, Anakin." I took a deep breath. "I knew already," I added in a whisper.

Anakin smiled slightly and shook his head. "Should have known I couldn't . . . keep it from you, Master." He took a deep breath. "Thanks . . . for covering for me, then."

"You're welcome," I responded softly, just as the door slid open and Shian stepped inside. At the sight of her, my mind immediately slid backward to the thoughts I'd had earlier, and I could feel myself flush all over again. This time I was fairly sure Anakin noticed, but thankfully he said nothing, his concentration mostly on struggling up to a sitting position within my encircling arm as Shian crossed the room to us.

"Better, hero?" she asked. "Or worse?"

Anakin blinked. "B-better," he said, after a moment, and she smiled.

"I thought so," she said, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. Anakin winced away at first, then grinned shakily.

"Hey," he said.

"Sorry," Shian replied. "Couldn't resist." She glanced over at me. Our eyes met for a moment, and for some strange reason I felt as if my heartbeat speed up. After a moment, she bit her lip and looked away. "You're looking better, too, Obi-Wan," she said. "I told you all you needed was some rest."

"You were right," I said. Force, what was _wrong_ with me? Thinking about Shian like that was—not appropriate, and I had plenty of other things to worry about at the moment. "I should know better than to argue with a healer by now."

" 'Should' being the operative word in that sentence," Shian returned dryly. "Right, Skywalker?"

"She's got you there, Master." Anakin's words were still slow and slurred, but they were a bit clearer.

I sighed. "I concede. Two against one is not a fair battle."

Shian grinned. "And here I thought the Negotiator would be beyond little concerns like the odds."

I shook my head. "Not beyond. I may disregard the odds, but I never fail to take them into account. Whereas Anakin here just doesn't care."

Shian laughed. "I _have_ heard people wonder if 'The Hero With No Fear' might be Corellian and not even know it." She turned to Anakin. "All right. How do you want to do this?"

He swallowed, and his hand tightened on my shoulder. "Jus' tell me . . . everything." He sounded vaguely ill as he continued. "Please."

I squeezed his shoulder, wanting to let him know that I was there, that he wasn't alone.

Shian nodded, her face serious. "All right. Well, it's not nearly as bad as it could have been. I was surprised, actually, by how quickly your lungs healed, and you're not going to have to be on a respirator or anything like that. Your back was badly burned, along the right side especially, and parts of it will probably scar."

Anakin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "How bad?"

"Not too bad, really," Shian said. "Your shoulder and along the back of your arm got the worst of it, and there'll be some scarring spreading out from there, but, considering how bad the burns were, you're getting off easy. It shouldn't curtail your ability to move the arm at all if you take good care of the wounds while they heal."

Anakin nodded. His eyes were fixed on her face.

"As for the rest of it," Shian continued, "you've had a mechanical arm attached already, so the procedure won't be anything new. We're going to put you into surgery tomorrow. We want to get you up and about quickly, I understand. You're going to have to go through some physical therapy to get you used to the new limbs, and I'm sure Obi-Wan can help with that."

Anakin sighed, and his body trembled under my arm. "Quickly . . ." he said, and then his eyes swung over to lock with mine. "Master," he said urgently. "He'll . . . know. He'll be coming after me—we have t' get out of here."

"I know," Anakin, I said helplessly. "I know, but you're still too weak."

His hand tightened in my tunic again. "Obi-Wan, you _have_ t' get out o' here," he said. His voice was hoarse and desperate. "_Please_. L-leave me if y' have to. Jus' get Padmé and th' baby . . . safe. A-away from him."

I shook my head and reached out with my other hand to grasp his shoulder. "No, Anakin," I ground out. He winced, and I gentled my hold. "No, Anakin," I said again. "I—will—not leave you."

"Then . . . get Padmé away." His voice broke. "Please, Obi-Wan. Please."

I stared into his face for one long moment, reading the open, frantic terror there, the pleading—and I sighed. "Yes," I said. "All right. We'll get Padmé away."

"Thank you." He sank down until his head was resting against my shoulder, shaking with released tension.

I looked up and met Shian's gaze, and her eyes were dark and troubled.

_Sidious was one with the darkness, a shadowy spider sitting in the center of an immense web of stars, of places, of people, of emotions, of broken hopes and dreams and plans, fears and torments and agonies. The power of the Force traveled through him to the threads of shadow that bound the galaxy together, and it was all at his fingertips. _

_He was getting closer to his destination, and it was easier to feel the dulled sense of his apprentice now, his presence shrouded in a thick, fuzzy haze and infiltrated by light. But the light was a superficial thing, simple to duck around it and find the dark, hot anger of Vader's rage, the freezing chill of the fear that resided deep within his heart. _

_By this point, there was very little in Anakin Skywalker's heart that was a secret to Darth Sidious. _

_His new apprentice had been left with Kenobi longer than Sidious would have preferred, for the dark lord had been delayed leaving Coruscant. Sidious had had a myriad of back-up plans in place, should his attempt to turn the Sith'ari fail, and activating them had taken longer than he had expected. And Skywalker's wife was with him, too—there was no other explanation for Senator Amidala's rapid and oh-so-convenient disappearance—something else that Sidious was not overly pleased about. Inopportune occurrences, all, but hardly developments that Sidious could not twist to his advantage. Darth Vader might be making his stumbling, uncertain way back to the light, but the fault-lines along which the young Jedi had shattered once before were still there. They had merely been patched, not repaired, and new cracks and fissures had developed with the strain of guilt and an entirely fresh set of fears. Apply the right kind of pressure, tug on the right strands, and the boy would fall back into the waiting hands of the Sith. _

_It would not be difficult. Skywalker was easy to read, an un-encoded holopad to those who paid attention. He broadcast his emotions so openly that it had been almost embarrassingly easy for Sidious to twist them to his advantage. _

_Sidious considered the star-field before him from where he stood looking out the viewport of his private cruiser. Still, Skywalker notwithstanding, it seemed Kenobi had changed the setting of the dejarik table. Perhaps Sidious had underestimated the unassuming Jedi Master—underestimated both him and the power of his attachment to Skywalker. He had admittedly not been expecting Kenobi's actions on Mustafar, and they had thrown him off, redirected his strategy like the classic Corellian Gambit, used skillfully, redirected a game of dejarik. It was a regrettable oversight on his part, but an oversight all the same. _

_Kenobi had suddenly become a much more important piece on the board. With that increased importance, it had become even more urgent to do something about him—either to remove him from play altogether, or to redirect his actions in return, so that everything Kenobi did only further served Sidious's purpose. _

_One thing was for certain. The Jedi Master wouldn't give up on Skywalker again without a fight, and a fight with Kenobi meant contending with all the tenacious steel that formed the backbone of the Jedi's resolvee. _

_A problem—but that stubborn determination could be an asset, if utilized correctly, Sidious reflected. He'd been able to use it that way before, during the hunt for Grievous, for example. Kenobi was clever, but he too could be misdirected. _

_And Amidala, too, simply provided Sidious with another pawn. Skywalker's secret wife had already proven useful in twisting the boy's thoughts and focus. Sidious would have to change his strategy—the reappearance of Jinn's spirit, if that was truly what he had encountered, was another unexpected setback, a new game piece he would have to consider—but the Sith lord had no doubt as to his ability to play the game. _

_That he had never doubted. _


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:**I'm very very sorry it took me so long to update, everyone, but here we go.

**Disclaimer: **The Flanneled One owns all. I own nothing.

**Twenty**

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Yoda had instructed me in the methods to use, and I had already communicated with my dead master of my own will, but that didn't keep me from doubting, somehow, that this would actually work. There was still one part of me that was convinced that I was imagining it all, that all this was totally impossible, some cruel illusion my shattered heart had concocted to salve the pain of loss.

_This isn't helping you any, Kenobi. Stop doubting . . . everything. Do or do not, there is no "try," remember?_

I didn't know if Yoda's old lesson had ever been quite so difficult to apply before.

I took another deep breath, bringing the air slowly into my lungs only to blow it back out again as I spread the fingers of my clenched hands on my thighs where I knelt in the small room I had been given. With it I tried to blow out my fears and doubts and focus on my Master's presence in the Living Force—not something that had ever been my strong point.

For a long moment I felt nothing beyond the normal eddies and currents of the Force; no comforting long-dead presence appeared in answer to my call. I remained open, my mind blank, questing, calling, refusing to give up.

This would work. I knew it would.

_Yes, Padawan?_

The echoing voice resounded through me mind, and then, in front of me, a glowing blue figure coalesced out of the air. Qui-Gon Jinn stood looking down at me. He glanced around, and then settled himself upon the bed. _You wanted to discuss something with me?_ He smiled. _Or were you just making certain this would actually work?_

My relief channeled itself into a broad grin, and my shoulders slumped with it. "A little of both, Master, I think," I replied.

His smile widened. _Well, here I am, and I'm certainly ready to discuss anything you wish to. Beforehand, though, Obi-Wan, I must warn you. Sidious is close. You are all in great danger. I am aware that Anakin is still too weak to be moved away from this place, at least until his surgery later today. But you must move quickly to get Padmé and the children away from here._ His face and tone grew concerned, anxious. _Trust me, Obi-Wan; it is very important. You swore to remain here with Anakin, and I commend that, but Padmé, and Anakin's children, must have protection from Sidious and whatever he may plan for them._

I nodded seriously, responding to the urgency in his tone. "I understand, Master. I will take your warnings into account and make sure they leave as soon as possible. Today."

He seemed to relax. _Good. That is . . . very good. Now, my old Padawan, what was it you wanted to discuss?_

I shifted uneasily. Now that my old master was here, there were so many things I wanted to talk over with him that I did not know where to begin.

I decided to start with what was certainly the most vital, as far as I was concerned. "I am concerned for Anakin," I said. "He—he seems as if he has . . . shattered. I am uncertain as to how I should go about helping him . . . pick up the pieces." I sighed, thinking over the time I had last spent with Anakin, reassuring and disturbing as it had been, in many ways, and suddenly there were words spilling out of me, get tangled up in themselves in the hurry to make them heard. "I still feel as if I have failed, Master. At the very least, I have failed him. Whether from willful blindness or lack of perception, there is much about him—my own apprentice!—that I have never seen, or did not see until it was too late. And Palpatine saw what I could not, and now he has taken my—my brother from me, twisted him, given him wounds I fear will prove mortal. Even now he seems so . . . fragile, as if one wrong word would destroy him utterly." I looked down at the hands resting on my thighs, and my fingers clenched into fists again. "I . . . I do not know what to do." And I did not like that feeling, not in the slightest.

Qui-Gon leaned forward, resting glowing elbows on glowing knees. _Slow down, Obi-Wan,_ he said with a slight laugh in his voice, then he sobered. _You are right,_ he said. I_, too, worry for Anakin. Great burdens weigh down his spirit, and there is much you have hidden from each other that is only now coming to light_. He shook his head. _The blame rests entirely on neither you nor Anakin for the flaws that caused your friendship to collapse. You share that blame between you. The relationship the two of you share has grown and deepened over the years, and I am glad of it, Obi-Wan. For a time after my death, I feared for you. And yet both of you have never been entirely honest with each other. The bond between yourself and Anakin, strong and resilient as it is, has been darkened by the shadows of secret fears and hidden stresses. As you rebuild it, make certain it is free of the hidden faults that caused it to fracture before_.

I nodded again. It was easy now to see what he meant. Anakin had not been able to trust me entirely. I had not been able to entirely understand the fears that drove him and so had unwittingly left him open to Sidious's manipulations. "I only hope he can come to trust me again in time," I said softly.

Qui-Gon gave a slight chuckle. _You sell yourself short, my apprentice. Anakin does trust you. More so than I think he realizes. He knows something now that he was never certain of before, something that you have now proved to him in the most dramatic way possible, I think._

I blinked and looked at him, not quite following his meaning now. "What, Master?" I asked.

He smiled. _He knows you care, Obi-Wan. More than anything else, that is the foundation of a good friendship. You reached out to him and you pulled him back from the edge of the pit despite the fact that he had destroyed your life, despite everything he had done to hurt you, and you did not abandon him or even pull away, even when he lashed out to try to make you leave him._

"I have always cared for him," I said, but I knew that that was not the entire truth. Even I had not been sure of what I would do on Mustafar until the moment when I had made my decision.

Qui-Gon shook his head. _Not always, Padawan. And even when _you_ were sure, Anakin was never quite certain. He has long hungered for your approval. The longing he felt for your approbation tore him in two, for he feared that you could never accept him as he was, that there was something fundamentally wrong with him that would forever prevent him from being a good Jedi, that to be what you wanted he would have to stop being _Anakin.

"You are right," I said wearily. "That is what I meant when I said I had failed him. I never wanted such a thing, but perhaps . . . ." And that hurt most of all, to think that Anakin had never truly understood that inside I laughed at his antics and enjoyed his company and sharp edges, for they kept me from getting dull, treasured his eagerness and energy even when those very traits annoyed me. Padmé had not been the cause of the rift between us. She had only been a symptom of everything that was wrong with our relationship. I could only be glad that she had filled the void left in Anakin's heart, even if that had led us all to this. "He—he told me yesterday that he was a failure as a Sith, and as a Jedi."

"That is what he believes." Qui-Gon's face was grim. "And, in a way, he is right. Anakin has not the heart of a true Sith, and dark as he might have become over years as Darth Vader, it is not in him to be a Palpatine or a Maul or even a Dooku. And he was a failure at being the kind of Jedi the Order tried to make him into, you could see that yourself."

"Anakin is no failure!" The words burst out of me before I could stop them, even though I knew what Qui-Gon said was the truth. I had seen it with my own eyes; Anakin was unsuited to detachment, and trying to hammer his molten passions into the cold durasteel of the Jedi mold had only inflamed them further. Instead of accepting his emotions and teaching him to accept them in turn, to give him direction and help him to find peace within his spirit, the Jedi had taught him that emotions were wrong, and that to be one of us he had to deny a fundamental part of his being. "Master—" I started then, ashamed of my outburst. "I—"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Not at all, Obi-Wan; I am pleased you are so quick to defend him. As fragile and wounded as he is, Anakin needs a staunch guardian like you at his side. And I was not saying that Anakin is a failure at all, simply that the paths of traditional Jedi and traditional Sith were never entirely meant for him. But you are right, that should not mean he is a failure. He is, after all, the Chosen One. I am still as certain of that as I was all those years ago, and I still believe in his potential. Even now."

"You still believe he is meant to destroy the Sith?" I asked in surprise.

He shrugged. "The prophecy says that the Chosen One will bring balance to the Force, not destroy the Sith. It was simply interpreted that way. Anakin has now been both a Sith and a Jedi. I would say that he is already well on his way to bringing balance. But yes, I do believe that for the prophecy to be truly fulfilled, the Sith Order must be destroyed." His meaning was unspoken, but clear—_Now that the Jedi Order has already suffered that fate._ He smiled, again changing the mood of our conversation. "So, I believe there was another topic you wanted to ask me about, my apprentice?"

I noticed that my fingers had clenched in the fabric covering my knees and forced them to straighten out. "I—ah—I—" I wasn't at all sure how to bring up this particular area of conversation, and suddenly Qui-Gon's advice about Siri rose in my mind. I suddenly didn't want to discuss this anymore. "I—never mind."

"Very well, if that's the way you want it," Qui-Gon said. "But I'd go for it, Padawan. She's definitely interested." He smiled again. "Why is it that you always attract the sharp-tongued ones?"

And with that utterly unsettling piece of advice, he disappeared again.

I sighed. I'd have thought that after I became a master in turn he would have lost his ability to completely through me off balance with a single sentence. Apparently, though, nothing had changed. I got to my feet and dusted off the seat of my tunic and the knees of my trousers, wincing slightly as my stiff muscles complained at the length of time I had held the position. I was still all bruises after the fights with Grievous and Anakin and the fall with Boga from the cliff, and I wasn't as young as I had once been, to bounce back from physical punishment in a day or two.

Just at that moment, the door gave the sharp beep that meant there was someone outside requesting my presence. I crossed the room and pressed the button that opened it, reaching out with the Force as I did so to discover the identity of my visitor.

I found myself face-to-face with Shian Risto, and I blinked. It was almost as if my thoughts had summoned her, though I knew that was ridiculous. "Good morning, Healer Risto," I said in a careful tone.

She shook her head irritably. "Shian, Obi-Wan. It sounds stupid for you to call me 'Healer Risto' like that—" she did an unnervingly good job of imitating my voice and accent "—when I'm calling you Obi-Wan right and left."

I wasn't certain what had put her in such a contrary mood, but she certainly seemed to be annoyed and I had no wish to aggravate it further. "Very well, Shian," I said, making certain this time to use her first name. It felt odd and uncomfortably intimate, but at the same time it sent a sort of tingling warmth through me to call her by her given name.

I resolutely refused to explore that feeling.

"Has something happened?" I asked. "Did you want to see me?"

"And does there have to be a crisis for that?" she snapped. "Maybe I just wanted to talk to you, _Obi-Wan._ Maybe I find you interesting enough that I just want to spend time with you, is that some sort of crime? Maybe a Jedi doesn't _do_ that sort of thing. Maybe a _Jedi_ isn't allowed to spend time talking to such lowly mortals as I."

I blinked again, shocked by the amount of venom in her tone and by the intensity of her reaction. I was torn between hurt and irritation at her acerbic words, concern, and a strange pleasure at the thought that she did want to talk to me. _Now this is a dangerous line of thinking, Kenobi. Better get your mind back on track before it's too late . . . ._ But I couldn't help wondering if it was already too late. "I meant no offense," I said finally.

She sighed and reached up to rub at her temple with one hand. "I know you didn't, and I'm sorry for snapping at you. I don't know what came over me." She gave a rueful smile. "Actually, I do. I was touchy after talking to my supervisor. He always does that to me. And I did come to discuss the situation with you; it's just that nothing's gone terribly wrong, as yet."

"If you would like to talk, I am at your disposal," I said. "I have no pressing business that demands my time."

Her smile widened. "When you talk like that I'm never sure if you're serious or joking," she said.

"I was teasing you a bit," I said with a smile of my own. "Don't worry. I don't think Anakin entirely understands my sense of humor, either."

Shian stepped into the room. "And why do I think you enjoy that a bit too much?" she asked. "This is tiny!" She looked up at me, her eyes flashing with indignation. "They put a Republic General and Jedi Master in a room only little bigger than a closet?"

I shook my head. "It is not important. I don't spend much time here, anyway, and we will be leaving soon." I appreciated her outrage on my behalf, however.

"Still," she said. "Sometimes I wonder about this place." She took the single hoverchair, leaving me to settle myself on the bed.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" I finally prompted, after a few moments in which neither of us said anything.

She sighed. "Several things. The first of which is Skywalker."

"What about him?" I asked, my concern for Anakin surging back up to the surface.

She bit her lip. "Well . . . I'm worried. He seems to be healing well, but there are—look, here it is." She was twisting her hands, then seemed to realize it and stopped, knitting them tightly together over her knee. "The sedatives we're giving him are extremely strong, and he's been on them longer than I'd like. There's some danger that there could be . . . permanent damage if we keep him on them much longer. They're all known to be habit-forming, for one thing. He's already showing tendencies. He's asked me to be drugged before. It's as if he doesn't want to be able to think clearly. And that bothers me." She looked up at me, the gray-blue clarity of her eyes was clouded with concern. "I know he's done terrible things, Obi-Wan. I think he's frightened of what his own mind will dredge up for him, afraid of the guilt. I—I can understand that." She swallowed hard; I could see her throat tighten and her shoulders tense. "But he can't continue on like this. I'm going to take him off the sedatives after his surgery today, though obviously I won't cut the painkillers so it'll be a slow process."

I nodded. Force, one more thing to worry about. This was the last thing Anakin needed to be dealing with, on top of everything else. "Yes," I said. "Do that. I—we certainly don't want that."

"Well, that's a huge surprise, Obi-Wan," Shian said in the wry, sarcastic tone I was coming to recognize. "I'm so shocked." She stared down at the floor for a moment. "He—everything will be more raw, without the sedatives, you know. I just want you to be prepared."

I sighed. "I understand."

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure you do." Shian took a deep breath, as if readying herself for something, then looked up at me. Her eyes were suddenly clear and intense where they bore into mine, and I found myself unable to look away from her piercing gaze. "Tell me what happened, Obi-Wan," she said. "I'll find out soon anyway, the latest news from Coruscant will probably get here in the next couple of days. It's something terrible, I already know that. Sometimes when I look at you it—you look—it's as if something inside you's been—broken. Something's happened to the Jedi, hasn't it?"

I floundered in the sea of reactions her words dredged up. I should tell her. I knew that. She had told the truth, she'd find out soon anyway, and what would be the point of hiding the details any longer? She already knew most of it, and I trusted Shian with my life, with Anakin's life, with Padmé's life. Why not tell her?

But still I hesitated. When it came down to it, I knew very little about Healer Shian Risto. What would she say when she knew what the Republic had become? That the Chancellor had destroyed our Order, outlawed the Jedi? What would she think? I already knew she bore no love for Jedi.

What if she turned on us? What if she followed what the Republic had become? This far away from the horrors of the Empire it would only seem like the safe thing to do, the logical thing.

And we needed her help. We couldn't afford for that to happen.

_I_—I didn't want her to turn away.

Shian's eyes softened, releasing me from their penetrating grasp, and she rested her hand on my arm. It felt like a brand, burning through layers of cloth to sear into my flesh. "Stang," she said, "don't worry so much, Obi-Wan. I don't care what it is. I'll still be on your side, you know. I just want to be ready for—whatever might happen."

I sighed and looked away. "I know," I said. My voice was soft and subdued, despite my resolve to remain strong. "I will tell you. It is simply that—" My voice failed me, and I stared down at my hands for a long moment. "Everything has changed," I finally managed. "My whole world has been destroyed, and I still am not certain if I will ever learn to cope with it."

She squeezed my hand briefly, then let go of me. "I'm sure you will," she said. "You don't strike me as the type of person who gives up easily, General Kenobi. The Negotiator. I doubt you earned that name through a lack of persistence and courage, Obi-Wan. I'm sure you'll make it through all right."

"Thank you," I said quietly, again surprised by the kind perceptiveness she sometimes showed when most of the time she was all prickles and sarcasm. I took a deep, fortifying breath. "It is just that I am not certain where to begin," I admitted. "I—you are aware that the leader of the Separatist was a Sith Lord by the name of Count Dooku?" I asked.

"Yes," Shian answered, "Skywalker killed him during a battle to rescue the Chancellor above Coruscant. I know that much. When General Grievous is killed, the war will be over."

"I killed General Grievous several days ago," I said. "Officially, the war is over. The Separatist leaders have all . . . been killed."

She stared at me. "_You_—you killed General Grievous?" Then her eyes narrowed. "Officially?" she repeated.

I sighed, still unable to meet her eyes. "For me, at least, the war still continues. It has simply . . . changed. After the destruction of General Grievous, while I was away from Coruscant, Chancellor Palpatine was revealed as a Sith Lord, one who had masterminded the entire war, manipulating us all. He turned Anakin to the Dark Side and ordered him to destroy the Jedi. Anakin—Darth Vader . . . complied."

Shian's eyes were huge and round. "He . . . destroyed the Jedi?" she asked, and I nodded. My heart was still sore and aching from their loss, and speaking of it seemed to pull the pain back up to the surface. "What does that mean?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"It means . . ." I took a deep, steadying breath. "It means that, as far as I know for certain, Yoda, myself, and Anakin are the only three Jedi still left in the galaxy. It means that I am fairly sure that the three of us are also the only remaining members of the Jedi Council. I know for certain that most of the Council were ambushed and murdered." I shook my head. "It also means that Palpatine—Darth Sidious—felt secure in consolidating his control over the galaxy. The Jedi have become fugitives, outlaws. Sidious has declared himself Emperor, and we are all under martial law. The Republic has become an Empire."

I looked up and met Shian's gaze. I could see the horror in her eyes; she had gone stark white. _Well, at least she believes me,_ I thought, for a moment unable to chase the bitterness from my thoughts.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," she whispered. "I knew it was bad, but I had no idea—" And before I even had a chance to react, she reached forward and enfolded me in a tight hug, nearly crushing the breath out of me as she did so.

I had no idea how to react; I was frozen where I sat. She only hugged me tighter. Her arms were warm and tight around me, her body was crushed tight to my chest. Slowly, not at all certain of what I was doing, I brought my arms up and tentatively placed them around her waist. I knew it was inappropriate of me to revel in the close contact, but I couldn't seem to help myself. It was so much what I had wanted, what I had . . . needed and hadn't even known it. "I'm so sorry," Shian said, her arms tightening around me. "I can't even imagine—and yet you forgave him, didn't you? You brought him here . . . ."

I bent my head just enough that I could smell the flowery clean scent of her hair, and scolded myself for suddenly having a marked preference for the scent of t'il blossoms. Suddenly I wanted to continue, to finish the story. "Padmé—Senator Amidala—was secretly married to him. I went to her and told her what had happened, asking her to help me find Anakin. She wouldn't tell me, but she knew he had gone to Mustafar to kill the Separatist leaders. She followed him in her starship. I stowed away. When she reached Mustafar she went to ask him if what I had told her was the truth. I . . . interrupted them. We began to fight. I . . . couldn't leave him there to burn, even though he was now my enemy. I had to do something."

She hugged me tighter for a moment, then let go, sitting back on the hoverchair. "I—I'm sorry," she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. "I—probably shouldn't have done that—I know you're shy about—"

I shook my head. "No, it's all right. I . . . appreciate it."

She looked at me for a long moment. "Well," she said. "I'm glad, then." She sighed. "You're one unique person, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Jedi or not. I know I could never have forgiven someone who had done all that to me, no matter who they were." She flushed even darker. "And I know that when I first met you, I . . . well, I know I was rude. I . . . I've held a grudge against the Jedi for a while, and I . . . took it out on you. I'm sorry. I had no right to treat you that way, especially when you can find it in your heart to forgive Skywalker for everything he's done to you."

"No," I said, "it's all right. It was never a problem. Though I do admit I am curious as to the reasons for your attitude."

Shian flushed again. "It's . . . well, you told me what happened, and I know that whatever happened to me it can't possibly be as terrible as to what you've gone through. It's just that I—while I was a resident at the University of Aldera Research Hospital I worked with the Jedi Healers. In particular there was one young Padawan around my age that I spent a lot of time with. He wasn't a Healer, per se, but he was talented in that area and worked with them often. He—well—we fell in love, I suppose you would say, but he was devoted to the Jedi and neither of us wanted to jeopardize his position." She didn't seem to want to meet my eyes. "He was killed at the Battle of Geonosis," she said very fast. "I was angry; he shouldn't have been there at all! He was no fighter. And I—that was why I joined the Republic Medical Corps. I wanted to help in the war, to save as many as I could, because I couldn't—couldn't save him."

I stared at her, stricken. I could never have imagined such a thing, and my heart seemed to shrink with guilt. "I'm sorry," I said. "I should never have asked. And I'm sorry because in a way—it was my fault that your . . . friend was killed. The Battle of Geonosis was fought because the Jedi came to rescue me. If I hadn't been so foolish—if I had just been a little bit faster—he would still be alive. I'm so sorry."

She blinked. "What?" Her eyes narrowed. "You're blaming yourself for that, too? I might not have known you very long, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I know for a fact that if there was anything you could have done to prevent that battle, anything you have done to save him, you would have." She leaned closer and looked into my eyes. "And I don't want you blaming yourself for this, all right? It _wasn't _your fault." She grinned. "This, though, might be." And she reached forward, set her hand on the back of my head, and kissed me.

Once more I was frozen in place with utter shock. I had truthfully never kissed anyone like this before. Not that I wanted her to know that, of course. Well, I had kissed Siri once before, but that had been brief, chaste, barely a kiss at all. This was . . . not. Shian was aggressive and warm and—and all thought fled my mind as she moved closer, and before I knew what I was doing, I was kissing back.

It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. The Jedi are not a chaste order, but I had never felt right giving or receiving physical pleasure when I knew I could offer nothing beyond that, when my soul was devoted to the Jedi. But now things felt—different—and I suddenly wanted to participate quite a bit.

Somehow her mouth had gotten open, and so had mine, and she was doing something with her tongue—it struck me that she was very, very good at this, and I felt a brief surge of—could that be jealousy?—toward her Jedi Padawan—

And then I stopped thinking altogether.

We pulled apart when we both needed to breathe. _That tongue thing is amazing, _I thought dazedly, only realizing I had said it out loud when Shian giggled and leaned forward to kiss my cheek above my beard. "No," she said. "_You're _amazing, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."

I could feel myself flushing. "I—" I started. "Did I—I shouldn't—"

Shian shook her head. "Just think about it, Obi-Wan, all right? One kiss doesn't mean you have to decide anything." She grinned again. "No matter how impressive that kiss might be." She sighed and brushed her hair back out of her face. "I suppose I should get moving. I have to make sure Skywalker's prepped for surgery . . . and all that."

I was still trying to scrape my thoughts back together into some semblance of a coherent order. "I—I'll go with you," I managed to say. "I should check on Anakin."

"All right," Shian said. She held out her hand. "Shall we go, then?"

I took her hand and got to my feet.

For the first time we had come to Elanna, Anakin reacted immediately when I entered his room, rolling onto his side and twisting around to look over at me. I knew that meant he could feel me through the Force, and I felt almost weak with relief at the same time concern twisted my heart. If he could feel me, that would mean that Sidious would be able to feel him as well—but somehow that seemed unimportant for a moment in the face of seeing Anakin react normally to a visitor. A faint smile touched his lips. "Master," he said, his voice still soft and a little raspy.

"Hello, Anakin," I said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said without much conviction. His response seemed vague and offhand, as if he didn't really care, and that worried me.

Shian stepped into the room behind me, and Anakin's eyes flickered toward her and started to slide away—then he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked closer at her, then back at me. His eyes widened, and a real smile started to spread across his features, a bright, happy grin as I hadn't seen since . . . when? The mission to rescue Chancellor Palpatine? Perhaps Naos III? I could feel my cheeks heat up, uncertain of what, exactly, he was looking at.

"I can' believe it," he said, and even his voice sounded stronger. There was a sparkle in his eyes, cutting through the murky gloom that had enshrouded them ever since they had changed back to their normal blue, a sparkle I hadn't been certain I'd ever see there again. "Master . . . d'you know you're blushing?"

"I—" I started, then realized I had no idea what I was going to say. "I'll thank you to keep yourself out of things that don't concern you, Anakin," I said, rather stiffly.

He glanced back at Shian, not fazed in the least. "You're blushing, too," he said in a tone of wonder. "I really can't believe it." His gaze swung back to me. "You actually did something, didn' you, Master?"

"Ah—_pardon?_" I asked sharply.

Anakin's grin widened. "Vape me, you _did_. You kissed her, didn' you, Obi-Wan?" His smile turned sly and teasing. "You can admit it t' me, Master; I won' tell anyone . . . ."

"_Anakin!"_ I snapped, shocked by his words.

And he laughed. He actually laughed, a low, halting chuckle, the sound so surprising and welcome that it actually brought tears to my eyes. "I can't believe 't," he repeated.

_Act normally, Kenobi; you tearing up over laughter is not going to help Anakin become stable again. _I sighed. "I don't know if I should be insulted or merely annoyed," I managed in a close approximation of my normal tone. "Shian, ignore the young one."

Anakin's eyes widened further. "Her _first name_, even! I'm shocked!"

"I'd appreciate a bit more discretion on your part, Anakin," I said grumpily.

He laughed again and lay back down on the medical bed. "All right, Master," he said. "All right." He sighed and glanced back toward Shian. "What now?"

I moved toward him and started to give him an answer, but right at that moment the door to the room slid open behind us. All three of us turned toward it, and I was surprised to see Master Yoda come through it, followed by Padmé. She was dressed again, in the action outfit she'd been wearing when she went after Anakin. I could see Anakin wince and look away on the edge of my vision.

"Padmé?" I said in surprise.

"Master Yoda came to me and told me we—I—should leave today," Padmé said. She took a deep breath. "I—I had to come say goodbye." She shook her head. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"No," Anakin said loudly, and I turned back to look at him. "Please go, Padmé. Please. I—don't want anything to happen to you." I could see him swallow hard. "And—and I'm scared. I—I just don't want you to get hurt. You'll be safer away—away from me." I stared at him, shocked by hearing Anakin, of all people, the Hero With No Fear, no matter how inaccurate I knew that moniker to be sometimes, admitting something like that.

"A premonition, I have had," Yoda said. "Right, young Skywalker is. Away from here, Padmé and the children must go. Safe, they must be kept."

Anakin stared at him for a long moment, then glanced up at Padmé. _Children?_ he mouthed silently.

"Yes—I didn't tell you." Padmé smiled sadly. "It looks like I'm having twins."

Anakin looked up at her for another long moment, then smiled shakily. "You keep surprising me," he said in a trembling voice. "I guess—I guess we could both be right, then."

"They could both be boys," Padmé returned quickly, with a touch of asperity.

Anakin chuckled and shook his head. "They could both be girls, too," he returned, then his gaze sobered. "Be careful," he said. "Please." He looked toward Master Yoda, and I could see his throat constrict with another hard swallow. "I beg of you, Master," he said softly. "Take care of her for me."

"Take care of her, I will," Yoda replied with surprising gentleness. "Swear this, I do. Safe she will be, young one."

Anakin nodded and took a deep breath. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Oh," Padmé said. She ran forward and hugged him tightly around the shoulders. "Oh, _Anakin_. I love you, do you hear me? I love you."

He tilted his head back and brushed a soft kiss against her lips. "I love you too, angel," he whispered.

"If I don't see you in a week, you're going to regret it," Padmé said warningly, stroking her hand through his hair.

"A week," Anakin replied immediately, though his voice wavered on the second word. "I—I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," she said, then pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "May the Force be with you, my love."

"You too," he replied, his one arm squeezing tight around her waist for one moment as he buried his face in her shoulder, then he simply let go of her. "Now go," he said, with a slight push. "Go, all right?"

Padmé nodded and backed away. "I'll be fine," she said. "Master Yoda will take care of me, and Artoo and Threepio will be there. I'll be well-protected."

"Tell them hello from me," Anakin said, his voice tight with control. "I'll see you in a week."

Padmé nodded. "In a week," she repeated, and fled the room.

Anakin collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. I moved toward him and laid one hand on the unbandaged part of his shoulder, trying to offer him what comfort and support I could when I knew he had to be in agony to part with her all over again. "It will be all right," I said quietly.

Anakin sighed, and his body relaxed, though his eyes remained closed. "Thanks, Master," he whispered.

"Healer Risto," came Yoda's scratchy voice, and I immediately looked up. "Ready are you?"

"Yes," she said. "Almost; I just have to get Skywalker prepped for surgery; the med droids can do the rest."

"Ready?" I repeated quickly. "Ready for what?"

Shian looked toward me, and her eyes were sad. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," she said. "I shouldn't have done this to you. I—I've decided to accompany Padmé and Master Yoda. It'll be forfeiting my job, but I don't think I want to work for an Empire anyway, and I'm tired of this place. They'll need me. I've set it up so that as soon as Anakin's surgery is over he's cleared to leave so that you can get off-planet as soon as possible. I—" she sighed. "I want to do as much as I can to help you, Obi-Wan," she said, then shook her head. "Oh, Sith it," she said, "I'm no good at things like this," and leapt forward to fling her arms around me and press her lips to mine in a fervent kiss.

I could vaguely hear Anakin choke and Yoda make a noncommittal noise in the background, but I discovered that I didn't really care.

Shian pulled away after a moment. "Remember that," she said fiercely. "I'm going to be seeing you again in a week, right? If Padmé's boy-toy over there shows up without you I'm going to hunt you down and—"

"What?" Anakin's voice sounded strangled. "Padmé's _what_?"

I smiled and shook my head. "I will be there," I said. "And be careful. Though I have no doubt that you will be safer than we will."

"I will," Shian said. "You too, Obi-Wan." She reached up and touched my cheek. "May the Force be with you, Jedi."

"And with you," I replied, and kissed her softly on the forehead, hardly believing my audacity. For a moment, I thought I could hear Qui-Gon's voice in my head, _I have no compunctions about saying I told you so. Good job, Padawan._ I wasn't sure if I had imagined it or not, but it certainly sounded like something my former master would say.

Shian smiled and let go of me, stepping out of my arms.

Master Yoda cleared his throat, and I glanced over him, embarrassment rushing in all at once. "Master," I said quickly. "I—ah—I—"

"No need to explain, Obi-Wan," he said. "Pleased I am to see this."

I felt as if I had gone as limp as a Mon Calamarian moon-jelly with relief. Whatever he had said earlier about attachment, I had expected him to disapprove. "Thank you, Master," I said.

He gave an impish grin. "Thank _me_, you should not," he said. "Healer Risto, meet you at the ship I will. There is someone who wishes to speak with young Skywalker, and you, Obi-Wan. Waiting outside, he is."

"Wh-who is it?" Anakin's voice was hesitant and fearful, and my heart wrenched to hear that tone in his voice.

"Need for fear, you have not," Yoda said, and hobbled from the room without answering the question. Shian shrugged when I looked at her and moved to the console by Anakin's bed to begin doing something incomprehensible with it.

A moment later, Onasi stepped into the room. Anakin tensed, his eyes going wide with fear. "_You_," he breathed. "You—you stay away from me!" I could hear anger, hot and tight, under his voice. "You come near me and I—I'll—"

I laid a hand on his shoulder again. "Easy, Anakin," I murmured. "He's not here to hurt you." I squeezed his shoulder a bit. "Even if he were, he'd have to go through me."

Anakin took a deep, shuddering breath. "A-all right," he said. "I—I trust you." His eyes flicked toward Onasi again. "But I don't trust you," he breathed, and there was a dark cloak of menace in his soft voice.

Onasi looked spectacularly uncomfortable. "I—don't—doubt that," he said haltingly. "I—" he glanced over at me and swallowed. knew the look on my face was unyielding and hard and was pleased by how intimidated he looked. His shoulders straightened even more until he was standing locked in what appeared to be a parade-ground pose of attention. "I owe you an apology, Skywalker," he said very quickly.

"I—" Anakin stared. "Wh-what?" he faltered.

Onasi took a deep breath. "An apology," he repeated as if the words were being yanked out of him by a gundark. "I—should not have—treated you the way I did. It was—cruel of me. What I did to you was—wrong."

"Huh." I looked over at Shian to see her looking over at Onasi rather speculatively. "That's more than I expected from you, Commander," she said. "You should be ashamed of yourself for what you did to him, but apologizing is a good first step."

"I—" Onasi didn't seem to know how to react. "Thank you," he said jerkily, his tone extremely formal.

I noticed that I was overly glad that she still didn't seem too pleased with him, and wondered at myself.

Anakin sighed and closed his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Just—just, if you're really sorry—will you do me a favor?"

I looked at him in surprise. Onasi seemed shocked, too. "Ah—what?" he asked, nearly stammering.

"Don't ever touch me again," Anakin whispered. "Don't even come near me. Just—don't."

Onasi snapped up to attention again. "Yes, sir," he said. I was half-expecting him to salute, but he must have realized how ridiculous it would have looked when Anakin wasn't even looking at him, and refrained. After a moment, he glanced over at me. "I will be remaining here until you are prepared to go," he said. "My ship is ready to take off as soon as you are."

"Very well, Commander," I said. "I will speak to you later."

He nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir," he said, and did salute this time before leaving the room as quickly as he could without losing his dignity entirely.

"Well," Shian said, and looked up at over at me. Her eyes lingered on me for a long moment, and she swallowed hard. My eyes seemed to have the same tendency to linger on her. "Well, I guess we'd better get this started," she said.

And I nodded.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took me so long to get this next part up. School ate my life. Basically. Oh well. The next update is here now.

**Disclaimer:** It belongs to the Flanneled One.

**Twenty-One**

_Darkness. It was all around him, part of him now in a way that made Anakin shrink back inside himself where he was broken and bleeding and dying and hurt, that made him wish he had thrown himself into the molten rivers of Mustafar to sear the taint from his skin, his very soul. In a way that made him wish for some way simply to end it, some way he could put everything right, back the way it should be. _

Because now, at this moment, everything was wrong. Everything.

Anakin's throat was tight and aching with tears that he would not shed, could not shed. His hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his lightsaber, metal grinding through leather to rasp against metal. The glowing blue blade shed a sickly ghost-light through the overwhelming darkness. Everything around him but the blade and the death-pale features of the forlorn figure kneeling before him was nothing more than a confused, ever-shifting blur.

Obi-Wan slumped on his knees, his eyes huge and bruised and glassy with a wet sheen in the darkness. He blinked slowly, tightened bruised, cracked lips, but said nothing as he knelt there, utterly helpless, his breathing coming in low, harsh pants and his shoulders heaving. He looked as if he had been systematically dismantled, taken apart, everything within him that mattered and defined him and made him Obi-Wan shredded and torn away until only this broken shell was left, kneeling and desolate and nearly a corpse already. His sad, battered eyes seemed to pierce the fabric of Anakin's very soul, and something in him wanted to weep at the expression in them, at the dead look on Obi-Wan's torn features.

"Do it, my young apprentice," came that hateful voice, an echo from the darkness in the rasping, clutching tones of a nightmare. "Kill him. Kill him now."

A thousand voices pressed in on Anakin with that one nightmarish exhortation, voices that yearned for Obi-Wan's blood, voices that begged him to kneel down himself and hold and soothe this broken figure of his master, voices that screamed at him to save Padmé, the voices of the Jedi accusing him, the younglings sobbing with their dying breaths, Padmé screaming his name, his mother dying and pleading for rescue, the hoarse screams of the Sand People as they were slaughtered, and a thousand, a million more, all demanding bits of his broken, defective, shattered soul.

Anakin closed his eyes and shoved them brutally away, closed the blast doors of his mind and shut them all out with a finality that seemed to ring and echo slightly in his head, and then, with a shaking breath, opened his eyes again.

Obi-Wan's eyes were drowned pools of sorrow, watered and hopeless, where they stared into his, his ginger lashes dark and starry with tears. "Please, Anakin," he mumbled, his voice weak and thready and gasping. "Don't . . . listen to him. Don't . . . do this to yourself."

His wavering plea only firmed Anakin's resolve.

He lifted his saber high above his head and brought it swinging down.

The raw, terrified scream brought me awake all at once, gasping and trembling and immediately alert, out of a sound sleep. Anakin's voice, and filled with pain and dread and so much despair it made my heart turn over and twist itself up in knots.

The scream came again, breaking like a wave against the insides of my head, shrieking with pain, and it was only then that I realized that that scream had been entirely mental, entirely through my bond with Anakin.

I surged to my feet and almost tripped over the hoverchair where I'd been waiting for Anakin's release from the short recovery time required after his surgery. I stumbled and nearly fell, but I recovered myself in time and stood there for a moment as my mind settled and my breath eased back into its normal patterns and the hot, shivery alertness the adrenaline rush had brought with it faded back into even awareness as my heart rate slowed and returned to normal.

I must have dropped off to sleep while I was waiting—

The scream again, edging the borders of hysteria now, wild and filled with tears and pain and the gripping, shrinking blackness of self-loathing.

I burst into Anakin's medical room, deaf to the medical droid's protestations.

Anakin was lying shuddering on the medical bed, gasping, ragged sobs shaking his trembling body but not waking him. Every inch of him was soaked with sweat, both his hands twisted desperately in the sheets beneath him. The knuckles on his real hand had turned white, the new mechanical one had ripped the sheet where his fingers held it clenched between them. Anakin's mouth was open, gasping for air as if the life-giving vapor was forever denied him, but blood trickled down his chin, staining his lips, from where he had bitten straight through the bottom one in his dreams. His bare shoulders twisted and writhed against the bed as he tossed and rolled in a never-ending battle, attempting vainly to escape the tethers of his nightmare. His cheeks were flushed bright, his color high and feverish.

His eyes snapped open as I came closer, but no recognition lit their cerulean depths. He was still lost somewhere within himself, I could see it in those glazed blue eyes, like mirrors reflecting all nine Corellian hells in that tormented sea of blue. "No," he moaned, breath catching and sobbing in his throat on the word. "No, please, no—Obi-Wan, no—"

Shock registered within me somewhere to hear my own name on those bleeding, bitten lips, but I wasted no time on the foolish reaction. I dropped to my knees by Anakin's bed and reached out to frame his flushed, tossing face between my hands. "Easy," I soothed him as gently as I could, my fingers easing across his hot, wet cheeks, wiping away the tears that slipped silently down them now. "Easy, Anakin, easy. It is just a dream, only a dream, wake up now. I am here, and it is a dream."

Anakin flinched at the sound of my voice, and his struggles increased in force. He writhed under my arms, bucking and twisting and fighting to get free as if I were the entire Separatist army come to rend him to pieces. "Obi-Wan, Padmé—please—no, _no-o_," he sobbed as he fought my restraining hands. His arms flailed beneath my attempts to hold him down, batting weakly at me as if to shove me away, his sweaty body arching and shuddering beneath me. He would hurt himself if he kept this up much longer, I knew that.

He screamed again in my head, though his lips were physically pressed tight together, tears tracing new paths down his cheeks, then surged upward, slamming up against me. His new mechanical hand hit me in the shoulder in a rough punch, as if he thought he was fighting someone in his dreams, and his shoulder rammed into my cheek.

I ignored the pain and wrapped my arms tight around him before he could sink back to the bed, pulling him close against me, pressing my face into his shoulder so I could feel the feverish heat of his body, the shivers tearing through him, hear the thundering beat of his heart. His body seized, stiffening—then relaxed, went completely limp, and eased, shuddering, into my arms.

I could hear his uneven gasps for air, feel the warm moisture of his breath against my neck, the hot wet contact of his tear-blurred cheek against my shoulder, and I rubbed my hands gently against his back as he continued to shake. "Anakin?" I ventured tentatively. "Can you hear me, Anakin?"

He stiffened suddenly and then pushed me away, tearing himself out of my hold so roughly streams of pain shot up my arms, and collapsed back against the bed before he could steady himself. "No, Obi-Wan," he blurted. "No—s-stay away from me."

Hurt ripped through me. I had thought this was behind us, and his obviously instinctive reaction felt like a blow straight to my gut. "Anakin?" I faltered, uncertain.

He turned his face away as if he could not bear to look at me and rubbed his mechanical hand roughly against his face as if to scour the tears away. "You—shouldn't be here with me, M-master," he continued, his voice shaking violently. "You shouldn't be t-touching me. I-I'll only b-betray you." He raised his head, and I was taken aback by the raw agony shimmering in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Master," he moaned, and reached out a trembling hand to brush his real fingers over the bruise I knew was beginning to swell on my cheek. "I did this to you." He swallowed hard and his mechanical hand clenched into a tight fist. "I'll only hurt you . . . please, Master . . . st-stay away so . . . so I can never h-hurt you again."

"It was an accident," I said softly. "You did not mean to hurt me." I took a deep breath. "And you would not. I trust you, Anakin."

He stared at me as if I had lost my mind, and his chin began to tremble. His real hand tightened into a fist now, as well, as if to help him still his shaking. "T-trust me?" he stammered. A ragged gasp. "But how—how can you—" I could see the knowledge of a thousand terrible deeds cloaking his eyes, choking his spirit, and I realized that I was surprised myself at how much I trusted this young man, at how willing I was to put every fiber of my being at his mercy. That kind of unconditional, whole-hearted trust hadn't been there before, not even during the years of the Clone Wars. For better or for worse, I had never trusted Anakin Skywalker as much as I did now.

"I can because I know who you are," I replied evenly, reaching forward to grasp my hand tightly around his shoulder. "I know you are Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear, the other half of the Team, my friend and little brother." I squeezed his shoulder and reached up to rest my hand on the back of his head. "I know you will not let me down. You never have."

His eyes were wide and disbelieving and shocked, damp and shiny with tears he no longer shed. "But I—I failed you, Obi-Wan," he whispered. "I did fail you. Sidious—he—I—I should never have—"

I mussed his hair a bit, patted him on the shoulder and withdrew my hand. "You never have," I repeated. "You were lost, taken from me by Darth Vader, wounded and destroyed. You didn't fail me."

He stared down at his hands, and then one side of his mouth quirked up slightly. "Little?" he finally said in a wry voice, hoarse and ragged from the after-effects of his hysteria.

I smiled back, and shrugged. "You might be taller and bigger, but you are still my ex-Padawan, and I knew you when you barely came up to my waist."

"Disregarding the fact that I'm a good five inches taller than you now?" Anakin asked, and the shadow of a teasing tone was in his voice.

"Five inches?" I repeated, indignant. "I wouldn't go that far!"

He shrugged. "Well, maybe not." He took a deep, shaking breath and stared down at the torn sheet as if falling away from me again, back into the world of his nightmares, his fingers brushing back and forth against the rip. He swallowed painfully. "I—I dreamed that I killed you, Obi-Wan. You and P-Padmé and—and—" He looked up at me, and his eyes were desolate. "And Palpatine was there—S-Sidious—and I knelt at his feet before I raised my saber to—to—"

"Stop!" Anakin looked up in surprise at my hoarse command. I took a long breath. "Stop," I said again. "Stop torturing yourself like this. It was a dream, Anakin. You're sick and weak and feverish, full of drugs. I know you've been having visions, but it is foolish to torment yourself over a dream when your head is filled with sedatives."

His gaze was wide and blue and utterly vulnerable. "I—you—but—Mom—" he said. "I couldn't bear it if I hurt you, Obi-Wan. E-either of you. I'd rather—"

I touched his cheek gently, cutting him off, as I straightened. "Come," I said. "We need to get going."

I could see him swallow hard again. "All right, then," he said, his voice all of a sudden brave and strong.

I didn't call him on his bravado as I helped him out of the bed. He'd need it.

_Padmé woke with a shuddering gasp. She was hot and freezing at the same time, her body shaking with shivers she couldn't seem to stop or control. In a daze, she lifted one hand to her cheek and was surprised when it came away wet with tears. _

She took a deep breath and blew it back out in an attempt to calm herself. There was no reason to be frightened. She was safe on her ship, leaving the Elanna system. Shian and Master Yoda and the droids were all with her.

Padmé sat up, resting her hand on her distended stomach as she did so and sighing deeply, calling up the memory of her husband's tousled hair and intense blue eyes, his handsome features.

It wasn't herself she was worried for. In her dreams Anakin had been lost in shadow, had knelt before the feet of a dark figure. He had been in agony, alone and lost.

"It was only a dream," Padmé murmured to herself. "Only a dream." Anakin might have had prophetic dreams, but she was no Jedi, and nothing she had dreamed had ever come true.

But in her nightmares she had felt her husband's presence. It had been as if he was there with her, his unmistakable energy pervading every moment of the dreams. She had felt as if she could feel his heart beating, hear his heaving breaths, smell the sweat of his body. Everything had seemed so real, _so close. _

"Enough," Padmé muttered. "This isn't accomplishing anything, Padmé. Anakin will be fine. Obi-Wan is there. Everything will be all right. You didn't lose him." He was still her Anakin, not the monster he had become for that terrifying space of time.

But still she worried for him.

Padmé sighed and reached up to wrap her fingers around the japor snippet that hung around her neck under her nightgown through the silk cloth, its slight weight a comforting pressure between her breasts. Even through the thin fabric she could feel the designs Anakin had carved into it long ago.

Her Anakin would be fine. He had to be. He would be.

She closed her eyes and reached out to him, concentrating on his presence. For a moment she felt an answering surge of emotion, confused and tangled and eager, that had Anakin written all over it, breathless and full of love despite the fear and pain and heartache that everything was twisted with. Be strong, love, _she thought._ I love you, Ani. _Everything will be all right. _

For a moment, Padmé thought she could hear his voice in her head, a brief sincere thank you, aching with gratitude, and then it was gone, and the only thing she could hear was the quiet thrumming of the ship in hyperspace.

Padmé closed her eyes and lay back down, pulling the blanket up over herself, and tried to get back to sleep.

Everything would be all right. She would see Anakin and Obi-Wan again in a week.

Everything would be fine.

"_Kriff_ it!" Anakin's voice was tight with irritation, and I could hear a tremble of hysteria in it, as well, only half-swallowed.

"Anakin?" I asked, turning back around.

He had sagged back down onto the bed and covered his face with one hand. I noticed that he was only dressed in his thin under-tunic and trousers. "I—I can't do it, Obi-Wan," he whispered, sounding vulnerable and afraid beneath the frustration. "I—can't even stand up."

I waved away the medical droid that had been giving me instructions on how I should take care of Anakin's injuries and returned to his side of the bed. "You can't expect your strength to come back all at once, Anakin," I said carefully. "It will take time."

He rubbed his hand once across his eyes, hard, and stared up at me, his eyes burning like blue flame in his pale, sweaty face. "We don't _have_ time," he ground out. "How am I supposed to defeat Sidious if I can't even _stand up!_" He shouted the last words, his fingers clenched into taut fists at his sides.

"Anakin," I said, as patiently as I could when I was unsettled by the fierceness of his reaction, feeling my stomach turn over and twist into an unpleasant knot, "who said anything about defeating Sidious now?"

His breath caught in his throat and he stared desperately up at me—he looked now as if he were close to tears, his eyes huge and pleading. "I _have _to," he murmured. "I'm the Chosen One. I'm supposed to." He swallowed hard, and suddenly he reminded me intensely of the teenage boy who had begged me to take the burden of the prophecy away from him. "I'm the Chosen One," he said again, and his voice shook. "I have to."

I sat beside him on the bed and put a hand over his clenched, shivering fist, resting the other on his shoulder. The muscles beneath my hand felt tense and knotted, and I could feel the sweaty, feverish heat of his body through the thin under-tunic. "I am finished with making demands on you, Anakin," I told him. "Right now all I want from you is for you to regain your strength and to be the Anakin I know again—the Anakin who is my brother and Padmé's husband. That is all."

He sagged, slumping downward. All his strength and anger seemed to leave him in a rush, and he was left just a shaking, wounded young man, little more than a boy, who seemed barely as big as I was and far more fragile. "A month ago—I would have given anything to hear you say those words," he whispered. His voice was ragged.

I took my hand from his, but left the other on his shoulder. "And now?" I asked. I was almost afraid to hear what his answer would be.

"And now—" He took a deep breath and shook his head, then raised his metallic hand to clasp it over mine, though he still didn't look at me, instead staring fixedly at some point on the floor before him, just in front of where his bare feet, one real and one a metal simulacrum, rested. "I'm still grateful," he said, but his voice was dull, and he sounded sad. "I always will be, Obi-Wan."

"But . . ." I prompted.

He sighed. "I—I'm broken," he said. "He tore me apart—I tore myself apart, and now there's nothing left." He unclenched his fingers and rested them in his lap, staring down at his hands as if he had never seen them before, as if they belonged to someone else. "He broke me, Obi-Wan," he whispered. "I have to—I have to face him. I have to, or I'll never be _me_ again." He swallowed hard. "I have to _kill_ him," he said quietly, his hands clenching again, and his voice trembled, with a furious desperation so intense it sent chills down my spine. He sounded like he had on Mustafar, and it terrified me. "I will kill him."

I shifted my hand to take hold of his jaw and turned his head until he had to look at me. His skin was hot and damp beneath my hand, and his eyes were unfocused, far away. "Not right now, Anakin," I told him firmly. "What about Padmé? We have to protect her, make sure she's safe, before we can face Sidious. Do you not agree?"

The lost, glazed look left his eyes. "P-Padmé?" he whispered. "Y-yes. You're right. I have to keep Padmé safe. Make sure she's all right." He nodded. "You're right, Master."

I let out an internal sigh of relief. "Now, shouldn't we be getting ready to go?" I asked.

He ducked his head again. "I—I would, but I can't—" he gave an ashamed-sounding sigh. "I can't fasten my tunic myself," he said. "My back's too stiff and sore—and I can't get the new mechanical hand to bend the fingers well enough yet. I keep shaking." He sounded utterly humiliated.

I was almost relieved. Here was something simple I could do for him, a straightforward, uncomplicated service. "I told you it would just take some time, Anakin," I told him gently, picking up the first of the tunics the medical center had provided for us to change into and slipping the sleeve over one of his arms. Anakin's were loose and light, to keep pressure off his injuries. I gestured for him to lift his other arm, and he did so obediently, allowing me to pull the tunic up over his shoulders and cross it over his chest for him. He stared fixedly down at the floor as I fastened it carefully, then picked up the other and repeated the process.

"This is embarrassing," he said finally.

"Quiet," I told him. "You helped me in a similar fashion when I was weak after escaping from Asajj Ventress. There is no shame in my returning the favor now. I am glad to be able to do so, actually."

He sighed as I settled his utility belt carefully around his waist. "You just like to laugh at me, Master," he said, but there was no rancor in his tone.

"Perhaps," I returned lightly. "Does that hurt?"

He shook his head. "No. They put so many layers of bandages on over my back I think it would take a lightsaber to get through them all."

I smiled a little as I fastened it and lifted the first of his boots, moving to kneel on the floor before him. "Lift your foot," I told him.

"Master!" Anakin said in a horrified tone. "I can't make you put my boots on!"

"Don't be foolish, young one," I told him. "It is absolutely no trouble." Seeing that he appeared reluctant to obey me and lift his foot, I slid one hand under the arch and lifted it myself, bracing one hand on his ankle. The joint felt thin and bony beneath my fingers, and I wondered how much weight he'd lost in just the last few weeks.

Anakin set one hand down against the bed to keep his balance. "Master . . . ." he said. "You really shouldn't. I can get them on."

"Can you really?" I asked in a noncommittal tone. "Ah well. I don't mind. If it'll save you the effort, I'm happy to do it. You are only just recovering, after all." I slid his foot into the top of the boot, then picked it up and tilted it. "Push down," I said. He obeyed, and I tugged the leather up so the boot fit as it should over his trousers, then picked up the other one.

Anakin sighed. "I give up," he muttered.

"Good," I said. "I am more stubborn than you are any day, my old apprentice."

"If you say so, Master," Anakin replied.

I finished with the other boot, though it was a bit trickier with the mechanical foot, then got to my feet and offered him my hand. He placed his hand—thinner than it had been, and it felt much more fragile, as if I would bruise him if I clasped it too hard—in mine, and I set my other hand under his elbow and pulled him to his feet, then into my arms. "Lean on me for a bit," I told him, pushing his head down to my shoulder. "You're shaking."

"Am I?" he murmured tiredly, and, much to my surprise, obeyed without further complaint, clasping his hands around me in a loose hug. "I feel so weak, Master," he said.

"It's only to be expected," I assured him, reaching down to the bed and picking up his cloak, then resting it on his shoulders, pulling it tight around him. "You have been through a lot over the past week or so, and it is only now that you are beginning to recover."

"I'm pathetic," Anakin said into my shoulder.

"No, Anakin," I told him gently. "You are not pathetic. You're merely drained and sick. It will take time to get your strength back."

He shook his head, the silky-damp tendrils of his hair brushing against the side of my face. "I should be stronger than this," he said.

I rested a hand on the back of his head. "Things will get better," I told him. "But it will take time. Come now. Let us leave this place."

He sighed, and let his arms fall away, let me set him back from me a bit, though I still kept one arm firmly around his waist. He wavered, but he managed to find his balance before he fell.

"Anakin," I said. "Look at me."

He raised his head warily, as if he thought he'd see disgust or impatience when he looked into my face. I shook my head. "You're stronger than you think," was all I said. "Here. I have something for you."

He looked down into what I held in my outstretched hand, then blanched, his skin going bone-white, his eyes widening until they seemed to take up the entirety of his face. "M-my—lightsaber?" he stammered. "How—I thought it was lost when I—I mean—on . . . M-M-Mustafar?" He seemed to have trouble getting the name of the planet out, and I couldn't blame him.

"I brought it with me," I told him. "I could not—" I took a deep breath. "I could not leave it there, Anakin. Not your weapon. I could no more leave it there than I could leave you."

His throat tightened, the muscles clenching as he swallowed. "Master," he whispered. "You shouldn't be giving this back to me."

"Why not?" I asked as evenly as I could. "I trust you, Anakin."

He looked at me, and there was an eternity of torment in his eyes. "I don't deserve it," he whispered. "I'm not a Jedi anymore, Obi-Wan. The—the things I've done with that blade—I—I'm sorry." He reached up and laid his mechanical hand on my shoulder, squeezing hard. "I appreciate it—I truly do. I am so—so kriffing _grateful_ that you'd even think to—but I—can't. I—might—I—I just can't."

I cast my eyes down at the weapon. It had been polished until it shown anew, no trace of Mustafar's ash and soot left in the shining grooves or gleaming rivets, but I wondered if the Jedi weapon would ever be clean again in Anakin's eyes. I sighed. "I understand, Anakin," I said softly.

He nodded. "Thank you, Master," he whispered. "C-can you hold onto it for me?" he added after a moment, his voice shaking. "So that you can—just—just hold it for me. Please."

I had the feeling he had been going to say something along the lines of—"Kill me with it if I fall again," but I pushed that possibility from my mind. Even if he did fall again, I wasn't sure if I would be able to raise a blade against him, let alone that one.

"I would be honored, Anakin," I replied.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** Sorry again for taking so long to update; I update much more quickly on tf.n if any of you are interested. And I'd just like to thank everyone for your incredible kind reviews. I'm so flattered and honored. Thank you again.

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine.

**Twenty-Two**

"_All three of you are looking good, Padmé," Shian said in a cheerful tone, easing the med-scanner away from Padmé's stomach and tugging the loose fabric of her comfortable two-piece gown back down over it. "It's okay if I call you Padmé?"_

_Padmé nodded. "Of course," she said. "Actually, I never really liked being called m'lady all the time that much anyway," she added with a conspiratorial smile._

_Shian laughed. "I can see how it might get on your nerves," she said. "Frankly, if people tried calling me by any title than Healer, they'd get an earful." She took a seat in the small swivel seat across from the bunk where Padmé was sitting and started to pack her medical equipment away again. "So," she said as she worked. "How did a former Queen and Republic Senator end up married to a young Jedi Knight? If you'll forgive my asking. I thought Jedi weren't allowed to fall in love. Let alone get married." There was a wealth of bitterness in her quicksilver eyes, and her voice was heavy with it. Padmé could tell that Shian, too, had had unpleasant experiences with the Jedi prohibition against attachment._

"_Anakin isn't exactly a typical Jedi," Padmé said softly, feeling a bit uneasy. She didn't know if she'd ever be comfortable talking openly about her relationship with her young husband after having hidden it for so long—telling anyone just didn't feel right, though she knew discussing it couldn't possibly alter anything now, and she trusted the Alderaanian healer. She was just so used to hiding that it left her feeling off-balance and vulnerable to talk openly about her marriage._

"_There's your understatement of the day," Shian said in an amused tone. "You could see that from kilometers off. I mean, I can understand one part of the whole thing—I mean, he's adorable, isn't he? If he wasn't taken—" she gave Padmé a mischievous wink._

"_Just so long as you keep your hands off him," Padmé said, only half-joking. She could feel her cheeks flush in embarrassment at her words, but she was actually glad to get a chance to finally say them, instead of keeping her thoughts to herself whenever she heard another woman wax rhapsodic over Anakin._

_Shian grinned. "Don't worry; I'm not going to feel him up or anything. I'm a professional, after all. Even if that boy does ooze sex appeal just lying semi-conscious in bed."_

"_And I got to him first," Padmé said primly._

_Shian laughed. "I'm glad you see you're protective of him. As far as I can tell, he could use some protecting." She winked again. "Your husband's safe from me. Of course, I'm not sure how _you_ managed to keep your hands off him and your relationship secret all this time. I don't think I ever would have managed it."_

_Padmé could feel her flush deepen. She knew Anakin was attractive, of course—didn't she ever!—and she had accepted long ago that other women found him to be so, knowing that Anakin would never, ever stray from her, but it was not a topic of conversation she was comfortable with. Trying to distract Shian from how flustered she had become, Padmé said, "Of course, you'd rather be looking at his former Master, wouldn't you?"_

_It was Shian's turn to blush. "Was it that obvious?" she asked with a little laugh._

_Padmé smiled. "Pretty much," she said. "And I saw the way he looks at you. I've never seen Obi-Wan look at a woman like that. I'd say the oh-so-controlled Jedi Master is quite smitten indeed."_

_Shian blushed deeper. "I don't know," she said. "Though I think he liked kissing me."_

_Padmé almost choked. "He kissed you?" she yelped. "_Obi-Wan Kenobi_ actually _kissed_ you?"_

_Shian gave a wry smile. "Well," she said. "Actually, I kissed him."_

_Padmé felt a smile growing across her face, the widest smile she'd felt in days. "Now that I can believe," she said. She pictured Shian dragging Obi-Wan bodily into a kiss and laughed. "Did he blush?" she asked._

"_Bright red," Shian said, with a blush of her own._

_Padmé laughed again. "I'm glad Obi-Wan has someone," she said. "He needed something to lighten his spirits." She caught Shian's eyes with her own. "I care for Obi-Wan very much," she said. "He is a good friend, Anakin's best friend, and a great man. Take care of him, will you? His heart is already damaged enough."_

_Shian nodded seriously. "I know how much the destruction of the Jedi must have hurt him," she said. "I want to help heal him, not hurt him further."_

_Padmé nodded, pleased with her response. "Well," she said. "Good."_

_She was about to say more when the ship shook violently. She nearly fell from the bunk to the floor, but Shian caught her before she could, the Healer bracing her feet on the bunk and the chair. A second later the alarm klaxons went off._

_Padmé reached under the pillow of the bunk for her blaster and flicked off the safety, laying her other hand protectively over her stomach. _Be safe, my children,_ she thought. "What was that?" she asked out loud._

_Shian bit her lip and straightened up. "I'm not sure," she said, "but it can't be good. Stay here, Padmé; you're in no condition to fight. I'll go and check it out."_

_Padmé felt her insides twist together uncomfortably, and something cold and sickening turn over somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, but she swallowed hard and nodded. "All right," she said. "Do you have a weapon?"_

_Shian nodded. "I may be a Healer, but I _wa_s in the Army of the Republic," she said grimly. "Be careful, Senator. I'll be back shortly." With that, she turned and ran out of the room._

_Padmé took a deep breath and focused on centering herself. Shian was right, she was in no condition to fight, and while that certainly annoyed her, she had learned to accept it over the last few months. What was important right now was protecting herself and the babies, and she was determined to do so, not just for her own sake but for Anakin's. She knew what it would do to him if something happened to her now, after everything he had done to protect her. He had sold his soul; the least she could do was respect his sacrifice._

_The ship shook again, and she tightened her grip on the blaster pistol. Master Yoda was on board, and she remembered witnessing his prowess in battle on Ilum. Surely there was no reason to be afraid._

_A few minutes passed, the silence digging cold fingers of anxiety into her brain. Each moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity as Padmé strained to hear any sound that would reveal what was going on. Was that the hum of a lightsaber? But there was no hint of a blaster shot—_

_The door slid open and she started, her blaster trained on the entrance to the room before she had time to blink._

"_Hey," came an unfamiliar voice. "There's no need for that, Senator Amidala."_

_Padmé lowered her blaster to look across the room. To her surprise, standing in the doorway was Master Yoda and a attractive woman with long purple-black hair, dressed in rather a rather revealing but practical outfit that made her look a bit like a bounty hunter. The first thing Padmé noticed about her, aside from the fact that she was quite attractive and looked vaguely familiar, was the starburst tattoo around her navel, perfectly visible considering her revealing clothing._

"_Hello, Senator," the woman said. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Khaleen Hentz."_

Anakin was heavy.

I could tell he was struggling to take his own weight, but his fingers were digging deep into my shoulder where his arm lay curled around my neck, and every few steps he would stumble and nearly fall, and the mechanical fingers of his hand would come up and clench in the fabric of my cloak for balance. I could feel his body trembling under the supporting arm I had slipped across his back, and I knew well enough that my support was the only thing keeping him from losing his balance completely each time he stumbled. The expression on his face was grim and determined, his mouth locked in a taut line of stubborn effort, his brow tight and wrinkled with concentration.

I had expected this to be difficult, but I had not expected how much the pain and concentration radiating from Anakin's presence in the Force affected me, or the way my heart turned over with concern and sympathetic pain every time he staggered and grabbed desperately at me to steady himself. I had not expected how much the sight of his steps made limping and unsteady by his unfamiliarity with the new prosthetic hurt me, too, as I remembered the usual ease of his long stride or the quick, unconscious grace that had always been present in his motions but was now replaced by a lurching, uncomfortable awkwardness. To see Anakin struggling merely to walk, wincing in pain with every jarring step, his breath coming in quick, harsh pants of exertion before we were even halfway to the hangar where Onasi's ship waited, brought home to me with harsh, brutal clarity how entirely our lives had been altered by his fall, what darkness and desperation and my own blade had done to the young man I called my brother.

Anakin sighed after catching himself from another near-fall, then stopped walking abruptly. He leaned into me and bent his head to rest his forehead against my shoulder. "Sorry," he said. His voice was ragged and breathy.

"Whatever for?" I asked in genuine surprise, taking the opportunity he'd presented to stop and catch my own breath.

"I'm too heavy," he said, turning his head sideways into the cloth of my robe and closing his eyes. "You're already tired."

It was, in all honesty, the truth, for I _was_ tired, my muscles aching and burning from the effort of supporting his taller, broader form, but to me that didn't matter, not at that moment. If the confused emotions touching the edges of my mind were any indication, Anakin had meant not that I was too tired to steady his weight, but that he himself, his friendship and spirit, was a burden I found too heavy to bear, and that was absolutely not true.

"Not at all," I assured him.

"Thanks," he murmured softly, "but don't lie to me, Obi-Wan." He raised his head and gave me a look that mixed teasing, affection, and a tired, weary bitterness that should never have appeared on features that young or in the eyes of a twenty-two year old man about to become a father. In that moment he looked heartbreakingly like a man twice my age, one who had seen far too much for his years. "You're a terrible liar," he said, and his lips edged into a sad, crooked smile.

I sighed, both at his uncanny perceptiveness and his lack of understanding. How many times would I have to say it before he trusted me enough to believe? Had I really given him so little reason to believe in me over the years? How could he know me so well, and yet doubt that I would be there for him, that I meant what I said? "You are indeed heavy, Anakin," I told him crisply, "but you are still not too heavy for me to carry. You never will be, even when I am an old man doddering about with a walking stick and you are still a great warrior. The Force is my ally, after all."

His smile eased. "And a powerful ally, it is," he whispered, finishing one of Yoda's favorite sayings. That smile transformed into a mischievous smirk. "And you mean older than you already are, ancient one?"

I gave him a look. "I am not the one who will soon be a father, _young_ one." I shifted my arm where it supported him around his back and clasped his shoulder. "Come now, Anakin. We must continue."

He straightened. "If I get too heavy, say something, Master," he said wearily, even though he had to know I would never do such a thing, and we continued our slow journey.

Anakin seemed to be channeling all his strength and concentration into merely remaining upright and moving forward, for even when we reached the entrance to the docking bay he merely rested his head on my shoulder for a moment and closed his eyes, seemingly content to let me key the door open. His eyelids flickered wearily upward when I coaxed him forward again, and he pulled himself up again with what looked like excruciating effort, but I could feel exhaustion emanating from his presence in the Force and was glad we had nearly reached our destination.

Onasi was waiting for us inside, leaning against the curving wall beside his ship, and he straightened and crossed the bay to meet us as we stepped through the door. Anakin stiffened, trembling under my arm as every muscle in his body tensed, and I laid my hand between his shoulder blades in a touch I hoped would be both comforting and cautionary as I loosened my hold and disengaged my arm from around his shoulders.

"I was not aware Jedi kept time differently than the rest of us mortals," Onasi said spitefully as he neared us, jerking his head toward the chrono on his wrist. "I thought you wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible?"

Anakin's eyes flashed, and I moved my hand up to squeeze his shoulder. _Let me handle this,_ I thought to him, and I felt his grudging acquiescence.

_Too tired to argue_, came the wryly distinct thought, and I let out an inward sigh of relief that I kept carefully shielded from Anakin.

"As quickly as possible," I responded as mildly as I could. I could understand his impatience, though it was unfair and unworthy of him to make Anakin feel guilt over weakness he had no control over whatsoever. "Forgive me for no longer being as young and energetic as yourself, Commander."

Onasi shot a glance at Anakin, who set his jaw and stared rigidly back, but the Republic officer kept any further comments to himself, for which I was profoundly grateful. Anakin was still so tense that he was shaking with it, and the last thing we needed was for the two of them to come to blows all over again.

"Well, shall we get going?" I added in a pleasant tone. "We do not want to delay our departure any longer than we have already, surely?"

Onasi looked annoyed. "Of course," he said tightly, though he didn't move. Anakin shot an unreadable look over at me, then loosened his grasp on my shoulders and took a step forward. He stumbled, wavering, but before I could catch him Onasi had reached forward and taken hold of Anakin's arm just above his elbow.

Anakin flinched visibly at the touch. His mechanical arm lashed out more quickly than I had thought possible in his weakened state, knocking Onasi's hand away and grabbing the front of the officer's tunic. His metal fingers clenched so tightly they left little rents in the fabric.

"Touch me again and I'll rip your kriffing hand off," he growled, his voice low and dangerous and trembling with fury. His emotions spiked in the Force, raw and throbbing, a tangled mess of fear and hurt and rage that made my heart catch on something in my chest.

"Anakin," I said, and my voice was sterner, harder, than even I had meant it to be. He flinched again at the sound of it, as if I had struck him across the face. _Easy._ I brushed his mind with a soothing mental touch. _Easy, Anakin, he is not trying to hurt you._ I couldn't help the thought—at least he hadn't threatened to rip Onasi's _head_ off.

Anakin's fingers relaxed, and he took a step back and shoved Onasi away, shaking violently now. His eyes swung around to mine, huge with desperate, confused pleading. He looked as if he were about to collapse.

I moved to his side and caught him just as his knees started to buckle. "I . . . told him not to touch me," Anakin whispered, his voice torn and painfully raw. "I _told_ him!" And there was anger there. Too much anger.

"He was simply trying to help you," I told him in a voice too quiet for Onasi to hear. "There is no need to be so afraid, Anakin. You see treachery and danger where there is none." I let my own pain at his distrust and betrayal bleed into my voice, and he flushed and ducked his head.

I laid my hand against the back of his neck. "Just trust me, hmm?"

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground, and I was reminded unpleasantly of how he'd been when I'd first begun training him, how whenever I was harsh with him he'd stare at the ground and his shoulders would tense up as if he were simply waiting for the blow he knew was coming to fall.

"Anakin," I said. "I am on your side. Always."

"I know," he said. "Sorry."

I shook my head at him. "It is all right. No lasting harm done. But no more apologies, please."

He swallowed. "Okay," he said. "I—I'm sor—okay."

Onasi's blue eyes raked icily over Anakin as we turned back toward him, and the scorn in them was piercingly clear. "Do you think you scare me, traitor boy?" he spat.

Anakin took a deep, shuddering breath. I could see his eyes flash at the term of address, but he said nothing. "I hope I do," he said, and his voice was trembling again. "I . . . scare myself."

Onasi's eyes narrowed. "Then what right do you have—"

"Stop," I said tightly. That dull look was back in Anakin's eyes, and it was like a lightsaber through my heart to see it there just when I'd coaxed some light back into them. "Just stop it. Enough, Commander. Where does this get us? Aside from an Imperial detention cell if we remain here longer than is absolutely necessary—must I _remind_ you that we are currently fugitives from the military government? Or would you stand here and bring up a point that is quite literally dead to further torment a man you have sworn to serve and protect? Argue later if we must; this is no longer the time for words."

Onasi turned to me and opened his mouth, and Anakin turned to Onasi and his hand brushed his belt as if searching for a lightsaber he no longer wore, but before anyone could say anything the door to the hangar bay slid open with a woosh behind us, and I spun around at the sudden surge of danger in the Force, one hand going to the weapon at my belt and the other to bar Anakin from moving forward. I stepped in front of him as the new arrivals progressed further into the hangar bay.

My mouth was dry and my mind running through a thousand different scenarios at once. _Clones. Blast. Is it the Empire or just the local planetary forces—_

"Commander," I said, "is the ship ready for take-off?"

"Nearly," came the instant reply. "I started the warm-up cycle while—"

"Go and prepare for our departure."

"But—" he said.

"Go _now_, Commander!" I bit out.

He went. "Anakin," I said. "I—"

"No, Master," he broke in quietly.

I sent him a frustrated look and a sudden hot wave of emotions surged up within me. He was wavering on his feet, curling tendrils of hair plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat, and his face was as pale as an Ilum winter. "_Anakin_," I said and shoved my will at him with the Force.

"_Master_," he replied, and his eyes, hollow with the echoes of still-bleeding wounds to his soul, reproached me for trying something like that. I gritted my teeth together in irritated desperation.

The man leading the clones came to a stop in front of us before I could continue. He was tall, with blond hair and a square-jawed, military sort of face beginning to go a little slack around the edges, as was his midsection. He smiled, and the oily expression made my stomach hurt. "General Kenobi," he said. "How nice to finally meet you in person. Healer Risto has told me a lot about you." His smile widened, and I realized I wanted to punch him in the jaw more than I had wanted to punch anyone since the day Siri had died. It was uncouth and uncivilized, but I wanted to feel my knuckles crack against his jawbone. "I am Supervisor Grenned," he continued, "the superintendent of this facility. Clone Commander 11-38 here tells me there have been some interesting new developments on Coruscant concerning the Kenobi and Skywalker team."

My hand was around my lightsaber, the metal grooves cool and reassuring beneath my fingers, when I felt Anakin's hand settle on my shoulder. "Easy, Master," he said. His voice was soft and impossibly calm. "I'll handle this."

I stared in shock as he walked forward, suddenly square-shouldered and tall, without a trace of a limp in his long, proud stride. I could feel him drawing recklessly on the Force, feel it swirling within him, but to anyone else it would look as if he'd never been injured in his life. He raised his head and stared down at Grenned and the clones like as if he were surprised that they dared to speak in his presence. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, his voice gone deep and imposing.

"Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No—urgh—" Grenned's words trailed off into nothingness as Anakin raised his hand slightly.

"Wrong," Anakin said. His sense in the Force was swirling with anguish and disgust, but there was no trace of those feelings in his voice. "Guess again."

Grenned gasped and his gloved hands rose to his neck as his throat muscles worked without producing a sound.

"I'm sorry, I suppose you can't," Anakin said with dark amusement. His sense in the Force felt sick and coiled tightly in on itself with self-loathing. "I am Darth Vader, Emperor Palpatine's new apprentice. And his second-in-command." His fingers tightened slightly, and Grenned's eyes bulged. "Obi-Wan Kenobi saved me from a Jedi ambush that would have killed me. I have shown him the error of his beliefs, and now he is my . . . loyal friend."

He dropped his hand, and Grenned gasped desperately for air.

"Do you understand friendship, Supervisor?" Anakin asked softly.

The man nodded so quickly it looked as if his head were a bouncing ball-creature on a string. "But—" he said in a hoarse, terrified croak, "Chancellor Palpatine's orders—"

"I am countermanding them," Anakin said. "He gave me free reign on my missions to the Outer Rim." His voice turned deadly. "Do you have a problem with that, Supervisor?"

The man shook his head. He looked utterly terrified. "Come," he ordered the clones. "We have work to do."

They followed him obediently, all except the leader, who stood silently before us for one moment more. "Good luck, sir," he said. "General." He saluted with his blaster rifle, and followed his troops away.

Anakin turned on his heel and strode into the ship.

I followed him at a slightly slower pace, making sure that no one remained in the docking bay—until I was up the ship's ramp, and then I broke into a run.

I found Anakin collapsed against the closest bulkhead, his legs in the process of sliding out from under him, and I barely caught him before he fell. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he moaned as I sank to my knees and steadied him against my shoulder. His hands clenched into fists at my back, grabbing huge handfuls of my tunic and twisting them into tight knots. He buried his face in my shoulder and shook. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," I told him, reaching out with the Force to probe his physical condition. _Oh, Anakin, always so reckless—what have you done to yourself this time?_ "Just stop apologizing."

"I didn't choke him," he murmured. "I just immobilized his vocal cords. I—I didn't—"

"I know." I stroked one hand through his hair, and it came away dripping with sweat. "It is all right, Anakin."

"I had to d-distract them—useless in a f-fight—"

"Anakin," I said gently. "Shut up. Take a deep breath. I am not angry with you."

He took a deep breath.

I put my hands under his elbows and reached out to the Force to help him clamber to his feet as the same time I straightened up, wincing slightly as my knees cracked and popped and the muscles in my back seized.

Anakin nearly fell all over again. I tightened my grasp on his arms. "We're going to the cockpit," I said. "Stay with me just a little longer."

I could feel him catch at his slippery awareness through the Force, and I bolstered him with my own Force strength as well as I could. "This way," I said, and gave him a little push in the right direction.

He made it to the cockpit with me almost carrying him. Onasi was already flipping switches and the engines roared beneath us, making the floor thrum with energy, as we entered the cockpit. Three chairs, I noticed. Thank the Force. I led Anakin toward the one farthest back from the control panel and practically poured him into it. "Take off," I ordered Onasi, barely sparing him a glance as I bent over Anakin and began to fasten his safety straps.

Onasi obeyed without complaint. I lurched forward and nearly flattened Anakin as the ship lifted off, but I used the Force and managed to steady myself before I landed on top of him.

Anakin's eyes were sliding shut, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. " 'm tired," he whispered.

"I know," I said. I could feel him drifting into unconsciousness through the Force, the black waves of weariness lapping at him with coolness that had to be enticing against the warmth of his fever. "You can sleep. Rest now, Anakin."

He shook his head sleepily. "Can't," he said hoarsely. "I'll dream."

"No, you won't," I told him. My voice sounded husky and thick with emotion, I realized, and I wondered where my control had gone. I brushed my hand against his cheek--he was still too warm, and his skin was damp with exertion. _Padmé should be here,_ I thought suddenly. _He needs her. She should be the one comforting him, the one to hold him when he needs it so that the nightmares cannot get through._ But she wasn't there, she was far away for her own safety, and I was all that was left. "I will keep the dreams away."

Anakin smiled and relaxed. His eyes slipped closed. "Always . . . taking care of me," he whispered, and then he was asleep.

He was still radiating feverish heat, but as soon as he dropped off he began to shiver. I sighed and shrugged out of my cloak, draping it over him, then sat down in the co-pilot's seat and began to fasten my own safety straps.

"What happened back there?" Onasi asked without taking his eyes off the controls.

"Complications," I answered shortly.

Onasi looked over at me, then back at Anakin. His mouth thinned. "He has bad dreams?" he asked, and his tone was odd and tight.

I hesitated, and flicked one of the readout screens in front of me to on. "Yes," I said, scanning the readings.

I could see Onasi's hands tighten on the controls. "Dana used to have bad dreams," he said.

"Dana was—?" I prompted softly.

"My brother." Onasi's voice was strangled. "You're all strapped in?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said. "You were right. We've wasted enough time on this backwater excuse for a planet. It's time to go."

I could not have agreed more.


	23. Chapter 23

Sorry it took so long, everyone. Mid-terms ate me. I hope I still have readers ;).

And it's not mine.

**Twenty-Two**

My name is Khaleen Hentz.

_Padmé stared blankly at the strange woman in front of her. "Is that a name I should know?" she asked, still suspicious. She had never heard of this woman before, and she was, admittedly, a bit dangerous-looking, with a blaster in a holster slung low on her hip, and the easy unconcern with which she wore those loose, revealing clothes. Still, Master Yoda stood calmly a few steps behind her, seemingly not worried in the least by her presence._

Khaleen seemed to lose a bit of her self-confidence at the cool retort, but her smile didn't waver. "I'd be surprised if you did," she admitted with an honest humility Padmé couldn't help but like.

"A friend to the Jedi, Khaleen Hentz has long been, Senator Amidala," Yoda put in from his place near the door.

Khaleen made a slight face. "Well, one Jedi in particular," she said, some strong emotion flickering in her eyes, and Padmé wondered what she meant. Her mind went back to Anakin, and Padmé wondered if perhaps she had more in common with this Khaleen than she'd first thought.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Where's Shian? Why was the ship shaking?"

"There's no time for long explanations now," Khaleen said quickly. "Come on, Senator, I think we'd better get you up to the cockpit."

Padmé nodded, confused but willing to go along with what seemed to be the plan. "Help me up, then," she said, and Khaleen came forward at once to offer her a hand and the support of her arm. Padmé took it, wincing as she hauled herself to her feet with an effort and her weight fell once more on her aching ankles. This unwieldiness was not something she was going to miss when she finally gave birth, that was for sure. Her ankles were swollen and sore, and she felt like an overweight shaak. "Sorry," she said, but Khaleen just shook her head.

"No trouble at all," she said. "I know exactly_ how you're feeling." And she winked and smiled._

Padmé smiled uncertainly back, wondering if this Khaleen had recently been pregnant herself, for that was what her words seemed to imply. The young woman seemed about Padmé's own age, probably younger. 

The ship shook again as Khaleen steadied her, and Padmé had to grasp tightly onto the other woman's arm to stay on her feet. "What's going on?" she demanded.

Master Yoda exchanged a glance with Khaleen that Padmé followed, not comprehending its meaning. "Go to the cockpit," eh said. "There, Healer Risto is. Deal with this I must." And then he was gone, hobbling out of the room far more quickly than Padmé would have thought him capable of if she had not seen him in battle.

"I guess we'd better get going ourselves, then," Khaleen said, and Padmé nodded. She followed as Khaleen started forward into the corridor. The other woman walked slowly and kept one hand out to steady Padmé as they went, and for that Padmé found herself very grateful as she hobbled along as slowly as Master Yoda, keeping one hand on the wall of the corridor for support. She watched Khaleen out of the corner of her eyes, noticing the way the other woman's gaze kept flicking to her and then away. Khaleen wanted to ask something, and she'd give in and ask it sooner or later. Padmé just had to wait for her to say it, and after a lifetime of politics she was good at that.

"They said the father is—was—is a Jedi?" Khaleen finally blurted about halfway down the corridor, the words tumbling all over themselves in their haste to leave her mouth. The ship trembled again, and Padmé caught herself with her hand on the wall.

"Yes," she said softly, and it felt strange and distant, unreal, to be actually admitting it. "He is. My husband," she added, feeling that statement could use a little more explanation. "Anakin Skywalker." She laid her hand against her distended belly absently as she said the words and thought she could feel_ the life growing beneath her hand, somehow. It brought her mind back to her husband. _Oh, Ani_, she thought. _Be all right. Be safe.__

Khaleen's eyes widened. "The Hero With No Fear?" she said.

Padmé nodded uncomfortably, but Khaleen just smiled. "Wow," she said. "Lucky you. About half the women in the galaxy would kill just to spend one night with him, you know." Her smile widened a little. "I have to know," she said. "One—is he as incredible as he looks, and two—boxers, briefs, or, well, option three?"

Padmé stared at her, feeling her cheeks heat. "I—" she sputtered. "Uh—um—what?" 

Khaleen shrugged. "I have this bet going," she said. "Didn't think I'd ever be able to settle it, but hey, why pass up the chance? I—" she hesitated. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Senator. I didn't mean to."

Suddenly, Padmé felt a wide grin settle across her features. She thought about how mortified Anakin would be if he knew she was having this conversation, and her smile grew even wider.

He never needed to find out, after all.

"Well," she said, "one—yes, even more incredible than he looks. And two—it depends." 

Khaleen blinked, then grinned. "Depends on what?" she asked.

"On whether or not he's with me," Padmé said, feeling her smile turn a little naughty as she fought a blush. 

Khaleen laughed out loud. "I have to admit, Senator," she said, "I never expected you to say anything like that."

The blush won out, then, and Padmé could feel it as her cheeks flushed. "I never expected me to say something like that, either," she admitted honestly.

Khaleen shook her head. "I like you, Senator," she said. "I have to admit I didn't expect you to be anything like this." She looked down. "I thought you'd be cold and arrogant," she admitted softly.

Padmé shook her head. "It's fine," she said. "It's fine. Right now I'm not a Senator at all. I'm just . . . I'm just Padmé." She didn't know if she'd ever be a Senator again, after what the Republic had become. What Palpatine had made it. What her own Anakin had made it.

"Well," Khaleen said. "I'm just Khaleen. Though I doubt anyone's ever doubted that." She reached out and steadied Padmé as she stumbled slightly. "We're almost there," she said. Padmé nodded gratefully.

The ship rocked once or twice more before they made their way into the cockpit. Padmé sank wearily into the nearest seat. She couldn't believe how tired she could be after such a short walk, but this near constant exhaustion was becoming near second nature to her these days. A sharp kick thumped against her, and she ran her hand over the spot. "Quiet," she said, thinking of the conversation she and Anakin had had shortly after he'd returned from the Outer Rim Sieges. What they'd name their child if it was a boy or a girl. "Quiet now, Luke. Leia. Everything's all right." 

Shian looked up from her seat in the pilot's chair. "Padmé," she said, sounding relieved. "Good. Better if we're all in one place." She looked back at Khaleen. "You take the helm," she said, "and I'll co-pilot."

"Where's Korto?" Khaleen asked, worriedly. Korto?_ Padmé wondered._

Shian gestured behind them. "Threepio," she said.

"Yes, Mistress Risto?" he said immediately, and Padmé realized he'd been standing back near the doorway of the cockpit. He stepped forward, and she realized he was holding something awkwardly in his arms. A baby.

Korto_, she thought, and suddenly everything she'd wondered about Khaleen made sense. "I'll take him," she said. Khaleen gave her a thankful glance as she started toward the pilot's chair and Shian got up to switch._

"Thank you . . . Padmé," she said.

Padmé shook her head. "It's my pleasure," she said.

"Oh, thank you, my lady," Threepio gushed as he clanked forward and offered the baby to her. Padmé took it carefully, cradling the warm little body in her arms. "I have no programming to understand infants. I was afraid I would damage it."

He continued on, blathering something about not being a nanny droid, but Padmé just shook her head. "Thanks, Threepio," she said. She settled the baby close against her, studying his olive skin and the little curling tufts of dark hair that covered his head, his round cheeks and perfect tiny fingers. "He's adorable," she breathed. "It is a he, right?"

Khaleen smiled absently as she took the controls. "He is," she said. "Thank you. He's the most beautifully perfect baby in the galaxy," she added with all the loving bias of a mother.

"He is," Padmé agreed, stroking her fingers down Korto's rounded little cheek. He felt so warm, so alive in her arms. He was sucking his thumb and kicked sleepily at the feel of her arms around him, burrowing his head against her. "He's perfect."

She brushed her fingers against his head. His tiny curls were soft and silky and curled around her thumb and forefinger.

Padmé felt a tight, aching warmth settle just beneath her collarbone, and her breath caught painfully in her throat. What would it be like, she wondered, to hold her own children in her arms, to know that these little lives had come from her and Anakin, had been the vital presences she had carried in her body for nearly nine months?

She could barely imagine it.

She refrained from asking who the father was, though the baby's smooth dark skin and twisty dark curls made her curious. He was such a silent child, she thought, as his huge dark eyes fluttered open and focused on her, and then he went back to concentrating on his thumb.

"We're not going to be able to keep this up for much longer," Shian suddenly said warningly. Padmé looked up from Korto to see Khaleen's face tighten and her flick a switch on the board.

"I know," she said. "I'm doing all I can."

"What's going on?" Padmé asked.

Shian shook her head in what looked like frustration. "We rescued Khaleen from an Republic cruiser that was blasting her ship into slag," she said quickly, "but now they're after us, and this thing isn't exactly designed for battle."

"It has weapons," Padmé said, all at once remembering the new features Captain Typho had installed, for her security, he'd said, and the entire day he'd spent drilling them in their use until she was ready to scream. Even when she'd complained to Anakin he hadn't backed her up, instead agreeing with Typho's point that she had to know how to use a starship's weapon systems for her own safety. She was glad now that the two of them had insisted.

Shian's head snapped up, hope flaring suddenly in her eyes. "Really?" she said. "Where? I looked, but I couldn't find any."

"Push the glowing blue square," Padmé said, wracking her brains for the directions Typho had given her. "It will ask for a password."

"Got it," Shian said. "What's the password?"

"Japor," Padmé said quietly, looking down at the baby in her arms again.

Shian didn't say anything, though, just quickly entered the letters. "Now what?" she asked. "Ah—a control panel's come up."

"That should be it," Padmé said, just in time to brace herself as another tremor shook the ship.

"I've got it," Shian said. "Firing—now! That should give them a surprise." She chuckled slightly. "I sure hope that Master Yoda hurries up with whatever he's doing back there."

"He'd better," Khaleen said grimly. "I'm not that_ great a pilot, and it'd be pretty kriffing ironic to come this far just to get blown to pieces now." Padmé could see the wedge shape of the giant Republic cruiser just edging into the starship's viewer and felt a chill go through her. How could it be that just weeks ago the shape of that ship would have meant safety and security to her and now made shivers travel up her spine?_

The ship rocked once more, and her arms tightened around the baby, though she knew the warmth of her arms would do no good. If the ship was destroyed Korto would die along with the rest of them. If they were taken into custody, he would go too. This time Padmé could see the green bolts of light shooting across the black void to impact against the sides of her ship, splashing out over the high-grade shielding. The baby whimpered and she whispered soothingly to him, but the reassuring words did nothing to calm her. Her heart pounded too loudly in her ears, thumping, echoing in her chest. Padmé swallowed hard. 

Shian fired the guns again and red bolts intersected with green. Padmé realized she was holding Korto so close he was squirming uncomfortably against her and had to loosen her arms with an effort.

She knew her shields couldn't hold for much longer. They were good, but not invincible, and the ship had been under fire for a long time. Padmé took a deep breath and refused to think about what would happen if they all died here, or if they were taken prisoner. There was no point to consider what might be, what could be, until it was there and staring them in the face. Instead she concentrated on the warmth of the baby in her arms, on his sweet, milky scent, and kept her breathing even.

There was another kick, hard, against her stomach, and she pressed her hand against the silky cloth that covered it the spot on her belly. Don't worry, Luke_, she thought. _Leia, everything will be fine._ Because it would be. It had to be._

Her throat hurt. Shian's eyes were riveted on her controls, Khaleen's straining to see further into the battle out the viewer. Padmé couldn't tear her own gaze away from the shape of the cruiser moving ever closer in the viewport.

And then it stopped. Just stopped. No explanation for the sudden halt, just the ship remaining motionless in mid-air as if time itself had screeched to a stop. The green bolts sputtered and died away. "What the—" Khaleen said, and at the same time Shian added in wonder, "It's stopped."

No kriff_, Padmé thought, and was surprised at herself. She took a deep, shaking breath._

"I'm getting us out of here," Khaleen said shakily. "This ship has taken enough of a beating as it is. Can you plot a microjump, Healer Risto?"

Shian shrugged. "Not really," she said. "I'm a doctor, not an astrogater."

"Then I'll do it," Khaleen said. "Can you take over piloting?"

Shian nodded. "That I can do," she said, and they switched seats once more.

"Just head away from the cruiser while it's still not doing anything," Khaleen said, her fingers already flying over the controls.

Shian laughed shakily. "No problem," she replied.

The ship shook and shuddered as they started away, and Padmé felt her stomach lurch, twisting painfully in on itself. Her breath caught, and she had to struggle to even it out.

"All right," Khaleen said. "I've got it. Hold on everyone, and fasten your restraints."

Padmé barely heard her. She could suddenly feel_ Anakin, like a wail of agony in her mind, throbbing and pounding through her veins. His heartbeat was hers, his harsh gasps for air her own. _Padmé_, came his voice, sobbing and desperate. _Padmé, hold me. Hold me,_ please _just hold me. So much pain, so much darkness, I need you._ She cried out once; she could feel her throat constrict, her chest heave, the sound ripping at her lungs. _Anakin_, she thought. _I'm here, Anakin, my love_._

Darkness. So much darkness, pressing down on her, tearing her mind apart, searching through her memories and discarding them. But they weren't her memories, not any longer, they were Anakin's—sun and scorching hot sand shimmering with the light of twin suns and the dark vacuum of space and the way Obi-Wan's cloak smelled when he lent it to Anakin on long space voyages when he was always cold, like fine Alderaanian brandy and good plain soap and sweat, and the pattern of the wires that ran through Artoo's casings like veins. And the pain, the aching, awful pain, pain that tore at her insides and clawed at the fabric of her mind.

No_, Anakin sobbed, _no, just get away, get away from me!_ and somehow Padmé knew it was not she he spoke to, it was someone else, the other, the dark one, the one Anakin had promised his soul to, the one who owned some vital part of him now, the one who had given Vader life._

Anakin's scream echoed through her head, reverberating in her own heart, bursting from her own lips, just as she shared his pain, his desperation, torn into two parts, two pieces, and unable to reconcile one side of his mind with the other, his soul and his heart and his head.

And then there was only blackness, and she was falling into it, for Anakin had already fallen.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** I apologize profusely for how long this took! Real life struck back with a vengeance, and I've just had trouble writing all summer. Still, I'm back now, and I'll probably be updating this again soon, anyway. Thanks, everyone, for sticking with me even through a three-month hiatus!

**Disclaimer**: The Force is telling me Star Wars is not mine--it never has been, and it never will be.

_He was floating somewhere, just on the bleary gray edges of consciousness. Part of him was telling him that he didn't want to wake at all, but he had learned long ago that what he wanted wasn't always what was best, for him or for anyone else. The inside of his head felt empty and vacant, and when he probed the recesses of his thoughts carefully, still lost somewhere that wasn't quite sleeping and wasn't quite waking, the emptiness there flared into screaming pain as if he had touched a still-bleeding wound. _

_It hurt, hurt so much it was almost indescribable. He had been empty and adrift before, but never like this. Never so . . . utterly alone. Before, he'd merely thought he was alone, but the others had still been there, still been out there, somewhere . . . ._

_Now they were all gone._

_The hollow sob he could hear wrench from between his own lips brought him back to himself as it sparked pain from the cracked, bleeding tissue, and he lifted the arm that hurt slightly less to hold it to his head, reflexively brushing thick, tangled locks of hair back out of his face where they dangled down into his eyes and stuck to the planes of his face with rain and sweat and blood. Even that much movement hurt, hurt terribly until he could hardly breathe with the pain of it._

_Offhand, he wondered if he was dying._

_And then, with a vehemence that surprised even him, came the thought that _no_, he couldn't die. Not here, not like this. He might be the only one left. The only one left to destroy the Sith. And he had to. He couldn't let them get away with what they had done, with . . . this._

_He pulled himself up, and the movement tore a ragged gasp from his throat. Pain roared to life along his nerve endings. He bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood; his vision swam and he struggled to clear it without much success. It felt like there something had exploded inside his head, like a thermal detonator had gone off and somehow the blast radius had been contained inside his skull._

_Damn it. He should never have let himself lie down and go to sleep in the first place. It had been a stupid mistake, and he didn't have time for those now. He'd pay for that, he thought dully. As he'd paid for every mistake he could ever remember making. Force, he already felt a thousand times worse than he had when he'd let himself drop off._

_Something brushed the aching edges of his mind and he recoiled, drawing fearfully away, back inside himself. Darkness. So much darkness. And he wasn't ready to face it, not like this, not when he was weak and trembling and could barely breathe through the pain._

_He struggled to reach out to the Force, to let it steady him, let it bleed the pain of too many injuries away. His reaching fingers closed around the cool metallic hilt of his lightsaber and images flooded his mind, feelings that helped to calm and center him. He took a deep breath, unlabored with the help of the Force._

_His vision cleared, and the dark jungle around him came into focus. It still dripped with rain from earlier, and he realized his bare skin was soaked and trembling with the moisture despite the heat of the world around him. He wished helplessly for the warmth and reassurance of his Jedi cloak, but that was pointless, and he'd survived much worse than this before. Even if he couldn't seem to recall any of that surviving in detail right now._

All right,_ he told himself. _Focus. _This wasn't doing anyone any good._

_He reached out with the Force to realize that the darkness he could feel like a throbbing ache on the edge of his mind was getting closer, its siren call resonating with the remnants of it inside his soul. He groaned, letting his head rest in the palm of his hand for a moment. The skin of his face felt scratchy and hot, and tepid water dripped down from his eyebrows, gumming lashes already sticky with blood to his cheeks._

_There was a vine dangling down just above his head, within reach of his arm. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around it, twisting it several times around his wrist, then pulled. A few moments of excruciating agony later he was standing. Wavering on legs that were blistering him with pain, but standing. He still couldn't seem to get a deep breath without calling on the Force, and when he reached down with his other arm to run the fingers of the hand holding his lightsaber over his chest and stomach he could feel his ribs shifting beneath his touch. His abdomen felt hard, his innards torn and slippery, and he knew he was still bleeding inside, Force-healing trance or not._

_Suddenly, he felt as if he hurt too much to move. He was so tired, so alone, so broken. Why even try?_

_Because he had to. He had never been one to give up, and he wasn't going to give up now. Not even if all the rest were gone and . . . ._

_He took a shaking breath that rubbed his raw throat into more pain. No. Don't think about that. There were still things he had to live for, Force help him. For it alone could._

_He stumbled forward, further into the jungle, along the thick branch beneath his feet, and away from the darkness that haunted his every thought, dogging even his breaths as he struggled for air. How was he going to get out of this one? The thought was ever-present, demanding an answer he didn't know how to give. He didn't even know how he was still moving, but his desperation seemed to give fuel to his painfully stretched overtaxed muscles. Somehow, anyway, he was still going forward. The cries of predators he didn't know the names of rent the hot, moist air. He was panting for breath but the air felt too thick and hot to swallow, trickling only slowly into his lungs._

_It didn't surprise him when he fell. He had felt it coming for the last few . . . meters? Kilometers? He'd lost track, when every meter felt like a thousand. First his foot plunged into something soft and slippery, warm and goopy through what was left of his boot, and then he stumbled, landing hard on knees that slipped treacherously out from under him. He thudded hard against the hard wood beneath him and the blackness reached out with kind, embracing hands to carry him home._

_He woke sometime later from feverish dreams that taunted him with the possibility of light and love and then tore it away. He moistened lips that were cracked and crusted with blood and tried to focus. In his mind was blackness shot through with the angry red of pain._

_There was someone kneeling over him, horribly cold fingers tracing over his bruised, knotted forehead. He flinched away, trying to fight it off, to protect himself, but all he could do was curl in on himself, trembling and sweaty. Kriff it, he _hated_ being so helpless, but he it was all he could do to force his muscles to flex, let alone carry his own weight._

_So much darkness he could hardly breathe through the weight of it._

"_Get . . . away . . . from me." The words rasped from between his lips and provoked a cough that tore at his lungs._

_The dark one didn't listen to him, though the fingers on his skin drew away. Immediately pain washed over him in crushing waves. He locked the muscles of his throat, refusing to let so much as a whimper escape, though he shook beneath the storm of torment that had been unleashed on his tortured body._

"_Always so defiant," came a cruelly amused rasp of a voice. "Nothing more than a wild nek who snaps at friend and foe alike, are you, Jedi?"_

_One hand scrabbled among moss and puddles for his lightsaber. "I . . ." _breathe, just breathe . . . _"know . . . who my friends . . . are," he whispered._

"_Are you so sure of that?" the dark voice taunted. "Where are your friends now, then? Why have they left you here to suffer and to die?"_

_His fingers closed around cool metal. "They're . . . dead. _You _. . . killed them."_

_Were those tears pricking hotly at the corners of his eyes? He never cried, but it hurt so much he wasn't surprised. He had lost everything, everything that kept him sane. Except . . . and who knew if he would ever see her again? Who knew if she and the baby were even still alive?_

_The thought was pure, tearing agony, and one of the tears escaped, trickling down his cheek and scoring a scorching pathway into his skin._

_His fumbling fingers depressed the button and the lightsaber ignited with a hiss, thrumming to life in his hand. He raised it to swing, to kill the dark one, to end this menace once and for all, even if it cost him his life—_

_And could not raise his hand._

_He almost sobbed with rage at his helplessness. It wasn't him, he was weak and probably dying but he knew he could still have swung his weapon one last time. Instead some impossible power held his arm down, outstretched and useless in the warm, dripping moss. Without his permission, despite his stubborn fight, his thumb eased off the button and the glowing blade disappeared, leaving the jungle quiet except for the uneven gasps of his breathing and the thumping off his heart. Far away a bird screeched, and the sound ricocheted painfully inside his head._

_He spat a curse into the damp loam beneath his cheek, and he could hear the dark one's mocking cluck of disapproval. "Language, Jedi," came that voice. "Do you want me to think you were raised in a gutter?"_

_Those cold, clawlike fingers patted his cheek. He turned his head and tried to bite at them, but he was too slow, and all he heard was mocking laughter echoing in his ears, inside his head._

_He willed the Force to kill him, to stop his breathing, to immobilize his heart, but he couldn't get a firm grip on it, and his vital organs kept functioning despite his will. He wondered if he could roll himself off this branch and fall to his death in the jungle below—but when he tried to shift his weight he found that it was not only his arm that was held immobile._

_He had failed. Completely, utterly. His breath hitched in his throat at the magnitude of that failure._

"_A wild nek indeed," the dark voice spoke again. "But then, a trained battle dog can be useful, if unleashed in the right direction."_

_His lightsaber was drawn out of his grasp, his fingers unable to clasp it and hold it to him as he so desperately tried to do, and then something else was pressed into his hand, something that felt like his weapon only different, curved and smooth._

_Images exploded inside his mind. He could hear the hoarse cry that tore from his lips as he struggled to block them out, but he wasn't strong enough, his shields collapsing in tatters around him. Darkness and blood and images of the pale woman, her bald head and stark tattoos like a visage of death, who had wielded this lightsaber before him, and how he—she?—wanted to _hurt_, how he wanted to _kill—

"_Bring him," came the dark voice, a command, and he could feel it as several others moved to obey, cold, gauntleted hands lifting his battered form. His hand cradled the new weapon, the new lightsaber, to his chest as if it were infinitely precious to him though he wanted nothing more to throw it away. The weapon resonated with darkness that ate away at his thoughts, feelings, everything that was him, that he'd fought so hard and long to find and keep. _No, _he thought fervently, _No! _But all his struggles were in vain._

"_You are mine now, Quinlan Vos," the dark one said._

_And he couldn't fight the darkness any longer._

I woke with a start and a shuddering gasp, and for a moment had no idea where I was. My flailing hand impacted against the smooth hard metal surface of a bulkhead, and I slowly realized that I was lying on a bunk, wrapped in its one thin blanket, the ship thrumming with hyperspace around me. My throat felt raw, my chest thick and aching, and my breaths were ragged and uneven. My heartbeat thundered, too loud, in my ears, and for a moment I had trouble believing that I was uninjured, that my breaths came easily in an undamaged chest.

_Quin_, was my first thought. _Alive._

But Force, at what cost? Had that dream been reality or simply a nightmare conjured up by all the trauma and emotional turmoil I had witnessed over the past several weeks? I sat up slowly and rested my shoulders against the bulkhead behind me as I scrubbed my hands over my face.

No use telling myself it had been nothing more than a nightmare, when I knew better. It had been real enough, for I could still feel the fading echoes of Quinlan's presence in my mind. I swallowed hard. _Force, _I thought desperately, the echoes and memories of the dream tearing painful wounds in my heart. _Force, Quin._ How was it that he always seemed to get himself in the worst situations possible? _I wish I could help you, friend_, I thought, aching._ If I could I would be there in an instant._ But there was nothing I could do now—I did not even know where Quinlan was, or where he had been taken, and for the moment Anakin was my priority. It still hurt to make choices like that, even when I had been making them all my life, but I had no time for grief or sorrow. Not even grief as personal as this.

For a moment I thought I could see the nod of approval Quinlan would probably have given me had he been here. His presence brushed mine, shot through with pain and dangerously filled with the darkness that had always been a part of him, but there in my mind, alive. The closeness of it startled me. _Watch it, Obi-Wan, _I thought I could hear his deep voice in my ear. _You have to get out of here. Get out of here, _now_, we're too close._

I hesitated. Would he be all right? If we were close perhaps I could do something to rescue him—

I could feel the slow burn of his frustration. _No,_ his voice growled. _Let me do what I do best. You _go. _Now, Obi-Wan. This is not the time for waiting._

I hated it, my entire being railed against the order, but he was right. Why was it that I was always so constrained by duty? I wondered, my soul swelling with anger and frustration in a moment of rebellion, my hands clenching into fists.

But that was foolish. I was Jedi, and my life was not my own. I knew that, had accepted it long ago. This life was what I had always wanted. I took a deep breath and released my pain and frustration to the Force. _Take care, my friend, _I started, _and may the Force—_

_It is, that I promise you. You too. _And for a moment, I could feel an aching gratitude that I, at least, was alive, a gratitude I shared, and then there was a spike of pain from his presence in the Force, and he was gone, the space where his presence had been just moments before empty and echoing.

But not dead. I had had no impression of death, and I clung to that knowledge as I took a deep breath and slid out of my bunk, straightening my Jedi robes as I started toward the cockpit. I had no desire to allow Onasi to see me mussed and disordered from sleep; he thought little enough of the Jedi as it was.

I simply had to believe that Quinlan would be all right until Anakin was safe and well, and I could do something to rescue him. It was a gamble, and one I hated to make, especially when I had only just discovered that he was still alive. I took a deep breath and pressed one hand to my forehead, forcing all the extraneous thoughts and feelings out of my mind. I had to focus; I had no time for distractions.

There were tiny tremors of danger resonating through the Force, and I sped up as I neared the cockpit and reached it, only to hear raised voices. I ran the last few steps to find a pale, shaky Anakin who looked as if he shouldn't even have been awake, let alone standing, arguing with Onasi, who didn't look much more alert. Anakin swung toward me as I entered. "Master," he said, his voice deep with weariness and relief, "you felt it too." His eyes were huge and dark in his pale face and his voice trembled with a nervous energy just shy of panic.

"Danger, yes," I said. But there was the tortured knowledge of much more than a premonition of danger in Anakin's wide eyes. I crossed to him and laid my hands on his arms. "What is it, Anakin?" I asked.

"_He_'s here." He sounded wild, frenzied. "He's coming. Palpa—S-Sidious. He's here for me, Master, he's come."

And then I felt it too, the malignant darkness emanating through the Force, reaching out to entrap all of us. I swallowed hard, and then pushed the thought from my mind for a moment. I had to calm Anakin down somehow. At the moment he was a near-hysterical mess, and that wouldn't be much help to anyone. I squeezed his arms comfortingly as I looked him up and down, critically assessing his condition.

He looked tousled and ill and terribly young, his face stark white and his hair a tangled mess that fell forward to trail down over his eyes, eyes that searched mine frantically as if desperate for any reassurance I could give. There were flushed spots of color over his cheekbones, and I could feel him trembling under my hands. He still felt overly warm and sweaty, and he had his tunic tied crookedly, my cloak on over it, which was rather too small for him and fell skewed from where he had tugged it on sideways.

"It will be all right, Anakin," I told him, projecting as much confidence and encouragement into my voice as I could. "You must trust in the Force. Don't fear the outcome."

"Y-you'll stay with me?" he mumbled, and his eyes fell down to somewhere in the vicinity of his boots, which were still loose and unfastened, I noted. "No matter what happens, you'll—you'll—"

I hesitated for a split second, for I knew that once I made this vow I would keep it, no matter what, but I couldn't refuse the heartrendingly genuine plea I could see in his downcast eyes. "I will be with you to the end, Anakin," I promised. "Regardless of whatever we may face." _Including your darkness. No matter what, my brother, my friend._ "You do not need to fear on that count."

Anakin nodded, and swallowed, and suddenly he was the Hero With No Fear again, even with his boots loose and his tunic lopsided. "Then I guess I will be all right," he said with that smirking half smile I recognized so well. "Whatever happens." His own hands came up to squeeze my arms in return, and I could read his thanks plainly in his eyes, though he said nothing. Perhaps he, like myself, realized that there was nothing more to be said.

I sent what strength I could over to him through the Force, and I could feel his grateful acceptance. The prosthetic leg was paining him, I thought, noticing how he winced when he shifted his weight. I hoped he would become accustomed to it soon, but for now I would do everything I could to make things easier on him. "You need to sit," I told him. "What will pushing yourself into exhaustion now accomplish?"

He took a deep breath. "I need to pilot," he said. "But that stupid—" and here he said something in Huttese that I knew better than to request a translation for and sent a venomous glance at Onasi, "won't let me."

Onasi's eyes flashed. He had been quiet during our earlier conversation, perhaps merely because he was as tired as I, but now he seemed to have regained his tongue. "There is no way in space I'm letting a traitor like him touch the controls of my ship," he growled out.

Anakin flushed furiously, his face flooding with color. "And here I thought you wanted to stay alive," he spat back.

_Easy._ The rebuke was gentle and delivered through the Force, but Anakin flinched as if I had struck him and subsided. I sent wordless reassurance after it, then turned to Onasi. "I'm afraid, Commander, that Anakin is right," I told him. "We will have a much better chance of not only surviving but escaping with him piloting this ship. And I assure you that he is trustworthy. I would stake much more than my life on it—and I have already."

Onasi's jaw worked mutinously and his mouth took on a sullen set. "You are more trusting than I, Kenobi," he ground out. "Or more forgiving. He can't possibly be _that _good."

"Wanna bet?" Anakin demanded. He leaned forward. "I find your lack of faith disturbing, _Commander._"

I touched his shoulder gently, urging restraint. "Anakin is the best pilot in the galaxy," I said in a mild tone. "It is as simple as that."

Anakin's eyes were the more shocked out of the two surprised looks that turned on me. He ducked his head and bit his lip, and I could see a big, sloppy grin starting to spread across his face. He seemed to stand taller despite his weakness, his shoulders straightening proudly.

He looked so surprised and so blasted _happy_ at that simple statement of something I had always taken to be fact that my heart twisted painfully, an actual physical pain taking up residence in my chest. Force, it wasn't as if he didn't know already that he had been born to fly, was it?

_But how many times have I actually acknowledged what a skilled pilot he is? _I asked myself. _To his face? _I quickly pushed the question out of my mind before I could think about the answer.

Onasi scoffed, obvious disbelief in his eyes. "So _you _say," he replied. "I've seen a lot of 'best pilots in the galaxy' go down awfully quickly in a lightfight."

"Why don't you simply move aside and let him show you?" I asked. My voice was still polite, but now I edged a firm, implacable backing into it. This wasn't something I was going to let go, and it was time he realized that.

Onasi stared truculently up at me for a moment more then sighed, sounding put upon and irritated, and stood. I didn't miss the triumphant grin on Anakin's features, nor the scowl on Onasi's, but for the moment I was most concerned with helping Anakin stumble forward and sink down into the pilot's seat without injuring himself further. I managed to straighten his tunic and cloak a bit in the process.

Anakin immediately seemed stronger, more solid, more there, more himself, as he settled into the pilot's chair and his eyes roamed over the controls. "All right," he said, a tiny lopsided grin curving his features as he looked back at me. "Strap yourselves in. We might be in for a bumpy ride."

I obeyed at once and settled myself into the co-pilot's seat, taking a moment to glance over the controls in a probably futile attempt to familiarize myself with them further. It might have been better to allow Onasi to serve as Anakin's co-pilot—this was his ship, after all, and he knew its systems better than I, who had only co-piloted the ship once—but I decided that that disadvantage would be offset by the Force bond Anakin and I shared and our long years of working together as a team. Onasi said nothing, but his lips tightened and he refused to take the other seat, instead bracing himself with a hand on both of our chairs.

I said nothing as I fastened my safety straps. It was his decision, and if he got tossed around later because he hadn't wanted to follow Anakin's orders, that was his problem. Perhaps it would make him more amenable to following Anakin's lead in the future, and that would only be a good thing as far as I was concerned.

Anakin's eyes slipped closed, his breathing evening out and deepening with slow rhythm. The tight lines around his features smoothed, the hardness of his set mouth relaxing, and then his fingers were flying over the controls. He set his hand over the hyperspace lever for a moment, then, suddenly, his fingers tightened and closed and he pulled it back, throwing the switches that kicked the sublight drives into gear at the same time with his other hand. The ship shuddered as the blue galaxy of hyperspace around us stretched out into elongated starlines and then snapped back into the clarity of realspace.

"_Sith _it," Onasi swore violently from behind us, and even I could feel my breath hitch in surprise. A huge wedge-shaped ship cut across the sky in front of us, bisecting the stars. There was another, smaller cruiser on its other side. I recognized the bigger ship immediately—a Victory-class Star Destroyer, new on the market and one of the most powerful ships in the Republic Fleet. "What the hell are you doing, boy?" Onasi demanded. "Bringing us out of hyperspace into _this_."

Anakin ignored him and slapped the controls to his right, but his sudden surge of annoyance, mingled with urgency and focused concentration, reached me, and I suddenly realized the answer to Onasi's question. How Anakin had sensed it, I didn't know, but I knew better than to question his instincts and reflexes when it came to this sort of thing.

"There's a gravity well projector," I told Onasi. "On the Star Destroyer. If we had stayed in hyperspace we'd just have been wrenched out in a moment anyway. At least this way we have the element of surprise."

"Obi-Wan," Anakin's terse voice broke in. "Lock in the auxiliary power." He glanced over at me and grinned. "_You _know, Master. This is where the fun begins." I knew that smile, and so I shook my head even as I obeyed his order.

Onasi wasn't going to know what had hit him.

The com crackled to life, and a voice I recognized as that of a clone pilot struggled through the static to order, "Unidentified Telosian cruiser. Stand down and wait for boarding. This is a cruiser of the Galactic Empire. Repeat, stand down and prepare for boarding."

"They certainly don't waste time, do they?" I muttered.

Anakin switched the com off with a sideways swat of his hand. "They know who we are," he said in an odd, far-away voice, and I didn't bother to ask how he had obtained that information. Even for a Jedi, Anakin was sometimes eerie.

Onasi did bother with the question, however. Both Anakin and I ignored him. It was not really one of those things that was easily explained.

"They were waiting for us, weren't they?" I asked.

Anakin shrugged as he brought the ship hard to the side. "Probably," he said. "Hold on!"

He threw the ship hard into reverse.

Onasi gave a choked yelp as he was slammed into the wall at the back of the cockpit, and I could see Anakin's grin, but I forbore from mentioning it. "Pull all the power from the deflector shields and shunt it into engines, Obi-Wan," Anakin said, and I obeyed. "Be ready to fire if they get a lock on us," he added, and then he threw the ship to the side. It shot forward, right between the two cruisers, and Anakin slapped the com on. "Tell the Emperor he can eat my ion-trail," he said fiercely, and switched it off again.

"Anakin—" I started, but he just shook his head.

"They're going to start firing in a second," he said, and then stopped the ship so that for a moment we were hovering right over the bridge of the Star Destroyer.

I could see his hand press down on the trigger for the ship's lasers at the same time Onasi burst out, "What in all nine hells do you think you're doing?"

"Saving our backsides," Anakin answered as the green laser bolts impacted against the ship's bridge, leaving scored tracks of black, twisted metal where they hit. The ship's shields flickered into life a second later, and our ship shot forward again.

"Why didn't they have their shields up?" Onasi demanded, grabbing onto the back of my seat with one hand to steady himself.

"Not fast enough," Anakin said distractedly. "It'd be crazy for a light transport this size to go head-to-head with a Star Destroyer. It's suicide. They know that. They're clones."

"I don't see how that matters," Onasi said acerbically, but Anakin just shook his head as he flipped the ship up onto its side to avoid a laser bolt from the ship we had just passed over. Our ship rolled, and then we were under the Star Destroyer.

But I could see what Anakin was getting at. "Their tactics will be conventional," I said.

Anakin nodded as he reached up to flip a switch above his head. "They wouldn't normally do something suicidal, and they don't expect other people to do it, either," he said, his eyes on the controls. "They're not as bad as droids that way, but it's a tendency that's definitely there." He grinned at me, quickly. "Jango Fett was a cautious tactician who preferred not to take risks."

The exact opposite of Anakin, whose tactics were audacious, unconventional, and invariably risky, but I kept that thought to myself.

"They're launching their fighters now," Anakin muttered, and fired again as the big ship's shields flickered.

"Why bother firing?" Onasi asked, a cynical weariness in his voice. "It _is _suicide for us to go up against that thing. Its shields are too strong."

"They have to lower them to launch fighters," Anakin said. "We've got to disable them if we want to escape. They're not going to decide it's too costly for them to follow us, so we have to make sure they can't whether they want to or not."

"Well, then we might as well give up now," Onasi snapped.

Anakin fired again, and again. His face was suddenly a tight mask of concentration. "Never," he bit out. "Besides, we can take them."

But privately I thought that I couldn't see how we could win this battle, either. We were too badly outmatched. "Anakin," I said. "Maybe we shouldn't let them have this all on their terms."

"What?" Anakin asked, his eyes still on the viewscreen.

"There are other ways to disable a ship besides ship-to-ship combat," I replied. It was a crazy plan, but it looked like we would need a crazy plan to get us out of this.

Anakin looked at me wildly. "No, Master," he said. "It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous for me, Anakin," I said, "not for you." As far as I was concerned, it wasn't that big a risk. "If I don't return, you can always escape on your own. By splitting up, it lessens the risk that they'll get both of us."

Anakin turned the ship and shot at a nearby fighter, but his eyes had turned lost and hollow. I caught a quick echo in the Force from him—_But I won't be there to make sure you don't get killed_. We were so used to partnership, I thought, that we both felt off-balance when we worked alone. "You'll still be out here, flying the ship," I said. "We'll need you, Anakin, to pull it off."

"But how are you going to get on the ship?" Onasi asked suddenly from behind us. I turned to look at him. "I can use the escape pod," I answered. "If Anakin can get close enough to launch the pod into the hangar—"

"That's insane," Onasi said flatly. "It's never going to work."

"It's the best chance we have," I replied.

Anakin sighed suddenly. "Kriff it," he said. "Obi-Wan's right—I'm worse than useless in a fight, and the best chance we have is to disable the ship's hyperdrive and the gravity well projector from the inside. It's so crazy no-one will expect it."

Onasi looked angry, but he just shook his head. "Fine," he said. "Then I'm going with General Kenobi."

Anakin looked about to protest, but I spoke before he could. "There's no reason for you to put yourself—" I started, but his jaw firmed, and he looked adamant.

"You'll need someone to watch your back," was all he said, and I realized he was right.

"Very well," was all I said. "Anakin, get us close enough to the hangar. Commander Onasi and I will go down to the first escape pod and wait—launch us when we're in the right position. It's all up to you."

"Yes, Master," Anakin said. "I understand." He shot again, illuminating another fighter before it exploded into shards of fire, then turned to look up at me. "Master, may the Force be with you," he added quickly. His eyes were haunted, full of torment and uncertainty, but somehow just his saying those words—the last thing he'd said to me before Vader—made everything feel more right.

"And with you," I responded. I laid a hand on his shoulder in a momentary gesture of reassurance, and started for the escape pods, Onasi following.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** So sorry it took me so long. I promise, I haven't forgotten this story. I've just been living in Japan for the last couple of months, which has really put a crimp in my writing schedule. Also, I know the situation with Padmé is confusing. It's supposed to be—you'll get all the answers soon, I promise. As soon as I manage to write them down. Whenever that may be.

**Disclaimer: **So not mine it isn't even funny.

**Twenty-Five**

_Sidious smiled as he stared out across the stars. And so, after all this, his apprentice had come back to him, practically delivering himself into Sidious's waiting grasp. It had been pointless to resist all along, though perhaps Skywalker—Vader—did not yet realize it—such was the lure of the dark side. But the shadows were rooted in Skywalker's heart now; the paths once trod to darkness called with irresistible beckoning for their servant to succumb and follow them once again to the seductive power they held. Anakin Skywalker might think he had renounced Vader, that he had returned to the light, but all he had done was defy Sidious. The darkness remained, festering in his heart, and while the darkness remained, while Vader remained, Anakin was still his. _

He turned away from the viewport, motioning for the clone troopers to continue their duties as he left the bridge and turned into the hallway leading to his private chambers. He had some items of business to conclude before his plans began to unfold in earnest.

The door to his quarters hissed open at his approach, and Sidious stepped inside, then turned to the communication panel set into the wall. He activated the most secure channel with a flick of his hand.

Immediately a face filled the screen before him, inky marks as jagged as teeth stood out livid and savage against pale skin. She had added to the tattoos that were her only ornament since she'd left Dooku, and the changes had left her stark face even more pitiless and cruel. It had been a great benefit, his rediscovering of Ventress like this, even if she was unsuitable for training as a true Sith. She was a deadly weapon nonetheless, and the promise of greater power kept her firmly in his grasp. She was one of the weapons Sidious intended to use against the most persistent vine-thorn in his side—Kenobi. The Jedi Master wasn't as much of a weakness for Skywalker as Amidala, but he was nearing that level. Sidious had felt Anakin shifting away from his own influence to cling tighter and tighter to Kenobi; he could feel how much Anakin needed the older Jedi's support and guidance at that moment. Regrettable perhaps, but nearly as useful. And Kenobi had placed himself almost in Sidious's grasp, even more neatly than he'd hoped for.

"Bring the Jedi before me," he ordered, and Ventress's lips drew back in a sharp, feral smile.

"As you wish, my lord," she answered. The screen flickered once and went black.

Sidious couldn't prevent his lips from curving into another satisfied smile.

That smile only widened as Ventress and the chained prisoner kneeling before her rose by lift into the center of the room. Sidious was waiting for them, his greedy gaze taking in all the myriad tiny signs of weakness, the little fissures in Quinlan Vos's struggling façade. And there were so very many of them—this proud, brave Jedi was ready to shatter, keeping his spirit intact only with a supreme effort of his own trembling will. Vos knelt, muscular shoulders slumped and head bowed, no longer fighting the electrochains Ventress held in her hands as he had the first several times Sidious had allowed him out of the solitude of the room he had been confined to—alone in his nightmares, free but unable to escape—to "spar" with Ventress. Nothing about the contests had been fair, but it had amused Sidious to see his two temporary servants snap and snarl and tear at each other, inflicting no serious injury through Sidious's control, but enough pain that when the end came they were both gasping and tired and shaking. A wild nek, indeed. The Jedi was useful for nothing else.

Vos's wounds had been treated, of course, but only enough to tug him from the brink of death and give him a chance against Ventress. His eyes were smudged and bleary, hollow and bruised, his olive skin undercut with a pale, sickly gray that turned it sallow. The raised welt of a burn from Ventress's new lightsabers stood out pink and swollen on one thin cheek, and other similar burns marked the scarred flesh of his bare chest. Ventress was not marked with half as many, but then, the fights had hardly been fair. Vos raised his head only slowly to stare up at Sidious. His eyes were dull and expressionless, black pits of echoing, directionless pain, and Sidious had to hold back a smile. Vos was even more ready to carry out his part in this dejarik game than Sidious had dared hope.

"What do you want with me, Sith?" Vos mumbled. His words were slurred and thick, as if he could barely force them from between bruised lips.

"I want very little indeed," Sidious said, his voice soothing and even reasonable, and knew triumph when Vos winced away from his words, his wounded eyes showing the hit plainly even when his face held still and stoic. Ventress chuckled and laid her hand on the back of Vos's neck, her fingers curling tight around the vulnerable flesh and nails drawing blood like claws. The Jedi's eyes flashed, but he stayed still, silent, submissive.

The dog believed he could trick the master, even now, after all this. What a fool this Jedi was, a fool who had yet to learn his place.

"You may as well cease this pointless struggle," Sidious said. "It is only destroying you. Bit by bit, tendon by tendon, shard of that shattered mind by shard. Do you believe you would be of any use to the Jedi as you are now?" He let that sink in a moment before stepping closer and adding the inevitable reminder, "Supposing they still existed, of course. The only one left now is the Betrayer, and the one who has joined him, and the dried-up old husk of a little green Jedi master. What use would they have for you? What use would anyone have for you?"

"I don't have to be of use to the Jedi," Vos rasped. He was panting for breath now. Ventress forced his head down further, and a low growl escaped the Jedi's throat. His chained, bloodied hands clenched. "All I have to do is . . . ." he broke off. His chest was heaving as he fought to take in air.

Sidious increased the subtle Force-pressure against Vos's lungs, and Ventress's hand tightened at the same time. The Jedi's eyes were wild, fevered, confused. He was losing control over his thoughts, his emotions, the tight shields he'd fought so long to keep them under shattering as he fought to breathe. Feelings and emotions came spilling out from between the cracks, tumbling jumbled and razor-sharp and full of aching pain into Sidious's grasping fingers. He closed his mental hands around those feelings and pulled tight, and Vos jerked helplessly in Ventress's hold.

"I control this galaxy now, Jedi," Sidious said. He reached out with the Force and tipped Vos's head back. Wide dark eyes, as trembling and liquid as those of a kath hound caught in a trap, stared startled and frantic into his. Ventress's hand curled enticingly around the strong muscles of that brown neck, the fluttering pulse at the fragile hollow of that working throat, her pale, icy skin an eye-catching contrast to Vos's dark warmth. What a fitting irony it was that the dark one should be as pale and pure as the snows of Mygeeto, while the struggling Jedi was already stained with darkness through his hair, his eyes, his skin. "What will happen to your wife and child now?" he prompted this second rogue Jedi. What was it that prompted all of them to make the same mistakes? So easily predicted, they were; how unoriginal those fools of Jedi Masters had made them, how desperate to feel anything at all that the dark side was always there, always waiting. Especially ones like this man and Skywalker, made for emotions and attachment and heroism, so that they could neither give up the life of a Jedi or the life of passion and feeling any more than they could give up the Force, or tell their lungs not to strain for air. "How will they fare, in a galaxy controlled by the Sith, controlled by my new Empire? A Force-sensitive half Kiffar child and his mother will be easy to find; they have no hope of hiding from me. I'm afraid they have very few choices left."

Vos moaned, his mouth trembling as he strained against Sidious's control. It was so much easier to physically control the Kiffar, Sidious thought with satisfaction, the physical connection to the Force their bodies were so attuned to made it a simple thing to bend this recalcitrant Jedi's muscles to his will.

"Shall I outline them for you?" Sidious continued. "One choice is that they will grow up in freedom and contentment and prosperity. You will choose the path of your own child, train him yourself, hold him in your arms, lift him as he falls, embrace his mother in the night—"

Sidious shrugged and released his hold, letting Vos's head sag back down. The man let it hang there, gasping helplessly for breath. His shoulders were shaking visibly. "The other . . . ." he began. "I'm sure you don't require me to expand upon the details. You are an experienced man, you know the ways of the galaxy. You can imagine what I mean when I tell you that if you choose this path, the child will never know his father or his mother—one Khaleen Hentz, I believe?"

He had the pleasure of seeing Vos's head snap up again at that. "You—you know about Khaleen?" he rasped. His voice was trembling. Broken, Sidious thought.

Sidious laughed then, a thin, crackling sound that reverberated through the circular chamber as it bounced from wall to wall and back again. "You insult me, Jedi," he said, sneering the word. "Did you really imagine she would escape my notice? You fool, I am not a Dooku. You cannot play your games with me. I have no patience for novices, and that is all you are." He smiled. "Do you think your wife will last as long against me as you did?" he asked contemplatively as he reached out and patted Vos's burned cheek in a paternalistic fashion, smiling to himself as the Jedi flinched away. "I imagine your son will make a promising Sith."

"No," Vos whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away. "No." His breath hitched. "Khaleen—" His sense in the Force was a roiling flood of emotion, all pain and fear and guilt and betrayal.

"She trusts you," Sidious reminded him, keeping his voice deceptively gentle. "She believes in you, trusts that you will keep your promise and come back for her. Imagine her surprise, her pain, as the clones blast through the door, when they rip the child from her arms and she realizes that you have betrayed her after all. Just as you have betrayed everyone else, time and time again."

A single tear slipped free of Vos's hold and trickled down his raw cheek. "Khaleen is strong." His voice broke. "You will not find her." His eyelids lifted, and his eyes flashed with painful fire. "And I will not serve you." The last was barely a whisper, barely a sound, but it was enough when he had managed to find those words inside himself out of the blackness of nothing.

Sidious slammed a wave of Force-energy into the helpless Jedi, and Vos groaned as he was slammed bodily backward against Ventress. The woman smiled and tangled one hand in his hair, pulling his head back, and ignited her lightsaber so that the red blade thrummed and glowed just beneath the Jedi's chin, filling the room with the stink of ozone. Dark energy rippled blue along Vos's body, playing over his muscles and making him twitch and gasp, writhing at Sidious's will, his flesh coming dangerously close to the red light of the lightsaber. Then Sidious clenched his fist, cooling his anger and making it useful, allowing the lightning to dissipate.

"You can tell that to Kenobi," he snapped. "I'm sure he will enjoy your defiance."

Vos's breath caught, his eyes widened. "Obi-Wan?" he asked frantically. There was fear in that voice, true, shivering fear as there hadn't been even for his beloved wife and child. Simply fear for a friend, or fear for the fate of that friend's companion and thus the fate of the Jedi? "Here?"

"Yes," Sidious breathed. "Here. It is pointless to resist, my dark Jedi. There is no escape for any of you now."

Ventress lowered her lightsaber, and released her grip on Vos's hair, and he simply let his head drop. His heaving breaths sounded like sobs.

"What do you ask of me?" he asked brokenly.

It was enough for now, Sidious thought. What do you ask of me, Master?_ would come soon enough._

* * *

_Anakin took a deep breath and held the ship steady, struggling to bury the impulse to glance uselessly out the viewport for the escape pod Obi-Wan was using to reach the Victory Star Destroyer. It was on the other side of the ship and looking would do nothing but distract him when he needed to stay focused, but that didn't change how much he needed to be certain they'd managed to make the connection, to know they had succeeded in that much at least. He blew his breath out slowly._ Come on, Skywalker, _he told himself firmly._ Obi-Wan can take care of himself. You know that. Get a grip on yourself and do what he's counting on you to do. You _can't_ let Palpatine—_Sidious_—get his hands on you again. Because—because I—I'm not ready, I don't know what I'll do, I'll fall again, I know I will, I'll let everyone down, and everything, all of this, will be for nothing— _He pushed the panicking thoughts from his mind with an effort and concentrated on holding the ship steady for just one moment more, steadfastly ignoring the green splashes of light as lasers impacted the ship's shields. They were still above half strength. They'd hold. _

The thought snuck in unbidden anyway—At least Padmé will be safe, no matter what happens. 

_Anakin gritted his teeth, fired at the lower half of the VSD, once, twice, three times, and then swung the ship away in a wide arc that would take him around over the VSD's central control tower. He couldn't think about Padmé now. He needed to focus on what he was doing. This was going to be tricky enough already, and he still wasn't entirely accustomed to the controls of Onasi's ship. He fired twice more at the tower and peeled off again before their turbolasers could get a good lock on him. _

Obi-Wan would be all right. He had to be. They'd been through a thousand situations that had been worse than this. Hadn't they? Obi-Wan was the Negotiator, hero of a thousand battles and a thousand more missions. It was absolutely impossible for him to die here. He was being stupid, worrying about nothing.

But—he could feel . . . feel him. There on the edges of his consciousness, just waiting, like a gigantic shell spider who knew his prey would fall into his web sooner or later, his darkness simmering around the edges of Anakin's mind.

No. He wasn't going to think about that. He didn't have to think about him, what he wanted or demanded from him, anymore. Anakin rolled the ship on its side to escape a barrage of laser fire, then rolled it over and under again to come out on the far side of the smaller cruiser on the VSD's wing.

Space them, anyway. Space Sidious, and his clone army, and their manipulations and the lies and the truths and all of it. Palpatine had set a trap for him and baited it with the one lure he would never, could never, resist, and he had walked into it like a stupid nerf and done exactly what the Sith had wanted him to do.

Anakin fired two missiles into the communications blister on the side of the smaller cruiser, where the shields would be weaker since right now they were still angled toward the battle and away from him. He followed them with a quick but intense burst of laser fire and felt a rush of satisfaction as the shields flickered in the wake of the missiles and the lasers raked across the blister, leaving explosions and melted slag in their wake. That at least would cut down on coordination between the two ships and decrease the likelihood that reinforcements would arrive before Obi-Wan finished and they could escape. He was readying the ship for another volley when a crackle from the comm console caught his attention. 

Oh, kriff, not now, _he thought, and then he heard the voice struggling to reach him through the static, and everything inside him froze into sudden stillness. _

"Anakin," came Padmé's voice, the tinny and metallic overlay rendered by the comm channel obscuring the warm sweetness of her voice. "Anakin, do you . . ." a crackle of static. "Anakin . . . read me . . . not sure if I'm getting through . . . important . . . ."

As if in a dream, Anakin felt himself reach out with one hand and flick the comm channel to open, toggling it to greater reception, and pushed the button to record the message as he guided the ship with one hand. A small, translucent blue image of Padmé formed above the transceiver, and Anakin swallowed hard and forced himself to tear his eyes away long enough to guide the ship underneath the smaller transport and lift until the top of the ship was nearly scraping the cruiser's shields. The lower guns couldn't target him here due to their angle, and he'd nearly disappear into the larger ship's shadow on the clone pilots' sensors. He should be safe enough here until the message was complete. He turned his attention back to Padmé. It was nearly impossible to discern anything about how she was doing from the small, grainy holo, but it looked like she was wearing one of her flowing robes and had her hair up in an elaborate style that Anakin's eyes couldn't even attempt to follow in miniature as it was, so he figured she had to be feeling better, at least. The thought left him limp with relief, but he tensed again as soon as Padmé's voice coalesced into clarity and she began to speak.

"Anakin," she said. "Obi-Wan, Commander Onasi. I can only hope that you receive this message. The matter is an urgent one." She paused, and Anakin swallowed hard. Urgent? "Due to unforeseen circumstances, Master Yoda thinks it best that we do not make for the assigned rendezvous point. Instead, we will be waiting for you to join us on the asteroids of Polis Massa. Senator Organa has contacted us; he is waiting for us there. We will remain there for five standard days upon reaching it and then go with him to Alderaan. We will transmit the coordinates to you, but like this message, they will be under a triple-encrypt only Commander Onasi's ship computer should be equipped to break." Her face softened; Anakin wasn't sure how he could tell, but he knew. "Be safe, Anakin," she said. "All of you. Obi-Wan, Shian says take care of yourself, don't push yourself too hard, and rest when you need to; she's thinking about you and she'll never forgive you if you collapse from exhaustion again." Anakin bit his lip, but was distracted from his renewed worry for Obi-Wan as Padmé reached up with her other hand and closed it over something around her neck. The japor snippet he'd given her, Anakin realized. His throat felt thick, and it suddenly hurt to swallow. "I know you'll be all right," she said. "I love you, Anakin. I'll be waiting for you. Don't you dare let me down." She brought her closed fist to her lips and kissed her knuckles, then stretched the hand out in his direction. Blowing him a kiss, Anakin thought, and pressed his gloved fingers to his lips to kiss it back. "Be safe, my love," she said again, and the image went still.

Anakin reached out and touched the fingers of one trembling hand to the shimmering image, as insubstantial as cloud beneath his hand. "Padmé," he whispered, and the hoarseness of his voice surprised him. "You _be safe." He swallowed hard. "You hear me?_ You _be safe." _

The ship shuddered, and Anakin was thrown to the side. His hand swept through the holo as he flailed for a handhold and he slammed up against the side of the console. Pain sparked through him, exploding behind his eyes and up his side and back along half-healed wounds with liquid heat, but he clenched his hands into fists and shoved it back, reaching recklessly for the Force to steady him and clear his vision.

The starfield before him came back into focus and he realized the cruiser above him was moving, causing its shields to slam into his smaller ship and jolt it to the side. Anakin pushed himself back up away from the console and grabbed hold of the controls to swing the ship out from under the cruiser and back into the battle.

"Break time over," he muttered, tracking a nearby fighter with his eyes as he readied his lasers. "Try this on for size." He fired and was already climbing as the lasers ripped the fighter apart. He suppressed the brief flare of guilt it left in his chest—it didn't matter that he'd been fighting alongside these very clones less than a week ago, no matter how wrong it felt. They were his enemies now.

He kept climbing, shunting his shields aft, before he leveled and spun, presenting the VSD with his back as he sprayed the fighter before him with laser blasts.

He didn't like to be a pessimist, but there sure were a lot of them. And while he was definitely good, definitely better than any of the pilots out there—and Obi-Wan thought he was the best pilot in the galaxy; the warm glow of pride and recognition those words had left hadn't quite dissipated yet—he still didn't know how long he could keep this up. 

Well_, he thought stubbornly,_ it'll just have to be long _enough_, that's all.

_But another part of him was thinking,_ Master, if you're taking your time about this, I'm going to be annoyed.

_"All right," Anakin said, narrowing his eyes at the fighters. "Bring it on. Let's see how good you really are."_


End file.
